


Betrayal 101

by elzed



Category: The OC
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-28
Updated: 2005-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:32:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elzed/pseuds/elzed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the season 2 Christmas holiday. Sometimes, it feels like everything Summer really craves is wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ethics of Betrayal

_Belated thanks to my lovely beta readers,[](http://bonnied.livejournal.com/profile)[ **bonnied**](http://bonnied.livejournal.com/) and [](http://tarteaucitron.livejournal.com/profile)[**tarteaucitron**](http://tarteaucitron.livejournal.com/), for deigning to cast their eyes over this before I posted. _

_Summer_

If there was a crash course in betrayal, Summer thinks, it would probably start like this. Ryan and her in a movie theater, watching some dumb Clint Eastwood movie, and she’s about to do something really, really stupid, not to mention totally sluttish. But she can’t help it. And it’s hard to tell when it _really_ started. When she started thinking of him as not just Seth’s friend, Marissa’s ex, but as a really do-able guy.

Sometimes, it feels like everything Summer really craves is wrong. Or possibly vice-versa. It’s one of those crappy rules that make life such a pain sometimes, like all the food she loves is bad for her, and she can’t eat burgers and chili fries all the time if she want to wear bikinis and mini skirts and flash tanned legs all over the place. It’s all about the forbidden fruit. She knows this better than anyone, having fought her natural curvy tendencies since she was about eleven. Nothing sharpens your hunger more than the knowledge that you can’t have something.

That’s exactly how she feels about Ryan Atwood.

Of course, it doesn’t help that Zach is still not fucking her, despite hints dropped here, there and everywhere, and that he really isn’t all that good at getting her off with his fingers, those rare times he’s tried. Not good at all, worse than Cohen, in fact, and that is something Summer would have thought impossible until she experienced Zach’s awkward fumblings. As it happens, she’s beginning to wonder about Zach, and whether Seth isn’t part of their relationship in a way that she hadn’t suspected at all until now. Because, Zach, when Summer wants to get laid, it is not usually a problem for guys to pick up on the clues. Or to follow suit. Not that there have been many – fuck you, Cohen – but still.

Summer has been discovering the joys of sexual frustration. Well, not discovering, as such, maybe re-discovering, shall we say – but these past few weeks, or possibly, months, she’s been wanting more and more, and she’s been getting less and less. And it is pissing her off seriously.

So when the Monday after Christmas rolls by, she thinks of going out, even though she hasn’t got anyone to go out with, because Coop’s still hanging out with the hot yard boy; and Seth is banging the chick with the stupid hair and the tattoo, and Zach is away with his folks, spending Christmas in Cabo or something. Dork.

She’s putting on makeup, sat at her vanity in front of the mirror, tracing a line under her eyes, carefully brushing mascara onto her lashes, glossing her pout with a cherry-red lipstick, and she can’t help but think of kisses as the tube runs across her lips. Annoyingly, when she thinks of kissing, it’s neither Zach, nor even Seth that comes to mind, these days, but fucking _Chino_ , and it’s becoming more than a little irritating.

What is it with this boy that he keeps insinuating himself in her subconscious, in her fantasies? More than once he’s turned up in her dreams, and rarely in an innocent capacity. It’s getting to the point that when she masturbates, sometimes, as her finger dips in between her labia, and strokes her clit languidly, without warning images of Chino surface in her mind, Chino looking hot and angry and brooding, and somehow it seems easier to reach her climax with him in mind than with others. She never thinks of Zach when she gets herself off; and with Cohen – well, with Cohen it was different altogether.

It’s a hard life being a teenage girl in search of a good fuck, with a boyfriend who thinks sex before marriage sucks (or who’s secretly gay, or some sort of damn monk, because Summer has tried every trick in the book and _still_ Zach doesn’t take the hint). Not that getting laid would be any problem, really, if she wanted to pursue this – Chip would do the honors, or Brad, or any of the damn water polo team players, except it seems for the one who actually has the right to.

But she doesn’t want yet another water polo jock – secretly she’s never really found the whole shaved chest and Speedo thing attractive anyhow – no, she’s looking for something a little more sexy, a little more _real_.

She wonders where Chino is tonight, and for all she knows he’s out with his red-haired science geek quasi aunt or whatever other fucked-up relationship they have going. You’ve got to hand it to him; he doesn’t do simple with girls. He does fucked-up, weirdly incestuous, dependent, alcoholic, beaten-up, pregnant chicks. Always saving – or trying to save – one or the other. And Summer suspects he doesn’t even get much sex out of it, and God, if anyone could do with a fuck it’s Chino. Because Summer _knows_ that he has to be good in bed, he just looks far too knowing and _hot_ not to.

She’s not sure what she’ll do – she’s definitely not going to the Bait Shop because Cohen’s bound to be there, not to mention tattoo girl and her purple streaks – but she might hit a party at Holly’s later on. In the meantime, she wants out of the house – it’s Monday night, her dad and the stepmonster are away until Wednesday at least – there’s no way she’s staying home for dinner alone, again.

When she walks into the diner on the pier she’s looking for a quick hit – rare burger, no fries but a damn side salad, diet Coke. She’s brought along the latest issue of Vogue to keep her company and she’s actually looking forward to an uninterrupted half hour leafing through the spring/summer fashions. She’s always liked eating out on her own; not as a habit, or because she has to – no, that would just be sad – but because she wants to, and she can handle being alone, she doesn’t need company all the time, her own does her just fine.

So when she’s halfway through the burger and sucking on her straw and someone’s shadow falls on the page she’s reading – hello? How is she going to find out about the latest makeup trends if some random blocks her light? – she looks up ready to bite the guy’s head off and just stops. It’s Chino, and he’s looking at her speculatively, like he’s about to say something but he’s not sure what.

“Oh,” she says. “It’s you.”

He smiles. “Yeah. Not much to do at home. What’s up with you?”

“Same,” she answers. “And I might be going out, later. Are you?”

He shrugs, makes a kind of noncommittal face. “Probably not.” And Summer knows he doesn’t give a damn about Newport parties, and that he’s not one for hanging with the water polo team (except Zach, okay, but Zach’s in fucking Cabo), but at the same time he looks kind of wistful and she realizes he’s lonely, too, and maybe they should share the loneliness, even if it means not finishing an article about exciting new blusher shades for this year.

“Wanna hang?” she asks, wondering what the hell they could do together of an evening, like maybe go to the movies together, when suddenly her brain goes into overdrive. And this is when the worm enters the fruit, the demon raises its head, the whole damn plan takes root. Because as she says that, she sees a flash in his eyes – oh, it lasts less than a second maybe; but in that second she sees the real Chino behind Ryan, under his skin, his eyes boring through her with fucking sex written across them, and she remembers with a jolt how she felt the first time she saw him at that fashion benefit, what, seventeen months ago? How he looked like pure sex, how she wanted to jump him. How fucking Coop and Cohen, already, got in the way.

So here she is, asking this guy who keeps cropping up in her sexual fantasies to hang with her, this guy she made a move on months and months ago, her best friend’s ex boyfriend, her ex-boyfriend’s best friend (and that’s without starting on the _current_ significant others). Her mind is whirling with possibilities, all of them wrong, all of them dirty, all of them featuring Summer grabbing Ryan, going down on him, jacking him off, fucking him, all of them _insane_ but she feels her crotch tightening and she’s hoping somehow this will fly.

Somehow it does, and they’re lining up for some big-ass feature – Clint’s latest offering, a shoe-in for the Oscars apparently – at the movie theater, and for one reason or another there aren’t that many people that night. Big gala in Newport for a change, and enough parties in that Christmas period to keep young and old occupied, which is why there are relatively few people around them when they sit, and Summer decides upon her plan.

She’s going to molest Ryan, and then he’ll be forced to do her, and the shared guilt and wrongness of it all will keep it all under wraps and no one need ever know. But she’ll have scratched that itch that drives her crazy. It’s a fucking stupid plan, she knows, and full of holes, but the best she can come up with at such short notice. Also, carpe diem, you know? It’s not often that she has a chance to try seducing Chino.

Besides, it’s not right that neither of them should be getting any (yeah, she can bet her sweet ass that Lindsay’s still a virgin) when they’re both fucking hot. Newport should be begging them, not shunning them.

Every inch of Summer knows that it’s _completely_ the wrong thing to do, that there is absolutely no excuse for behaving like that kind of slut. None whatsoever, and her name deserves to be mud for generations to come – high school generations, okay, maybe a few years, nothing to do with actually having _children_ right? Except that it’s Chino, sat next to her in the dark theater, and she can smell his boy smell, hormones and deodorant and some vaguely cologne-y soap and maybe a hint of sweat, and it makes her feel nervous and tight and itchy.

But more than anything it makes her feel _hot_ and it’s like her hand has a mind of its own because it’s creeping along the shared armrest, and Summer knows – no really, she _knows_ – that if she puts it on Ryan’s crotch he’ll most probably let her do whatever she wants to do because he may be moral and straight-thinking and honorable and a do-the-right-thing white knight, he’s still a fucking seventeen-year-old boy with seventeen-year-old boy hormones, and if she gets her hand on his dick he’s going to be powerless to turn her away. Especially since she’s looked, he’s already kind of hard, and that has to be something to do with her because it sure as hell isn’t the film right now unless Morgan Freeman really does it for him.

She listens to his breathing, tuning into his sounds under the Dolby soundtrack pounding around her through the theater’s speakers, and she wonders whether he’s doing the same, whether he’s detected that she’s breathing shallower now, whether he can tell that she is wet, her crotch wanting his touch. Not that he will touch her first, ever. That much Summer knows.

But they have been dancing around each other all evening, ever since they ended up as this lame ‘everyone has gone out but us’ pairing, and he agreed to the film, and Summer is not stupid. Ryan will never do anything, no, but she’s seen him looking at her when he thinks she doesn’t notice. She knows she’s hot, and he knows hot. The Chino in him may have been dulled, but it hasn’t gone completely. And hello? Even the dorkiest Newport geeks (Cohen, anyone?) know. _Everyone_ knows Summer Roberts is a hot chick. So that’s the mantra in her head, because she needs a little cheerleading right now.

She closes her eyes, her hand still hovering over the armrest, wondering whether she has the balls to touch him. The thing is, she wants him so much right now. She’s never wanted anyone or anything this much before, she thinks. Except perhaps an exceptionally gorgeous pair of Manolos a few Christmases back, and her bitch of a stepmother wouldn’t let her get them, said they were too grown-up for a fourteen-year-old. Maybe Chino’s too grown-up for a seventeen-year-old Newport girl, and she almost whimpers because _that_ is exactly why she wants him. He’s not really a boy, Ryan. He’s more like a man. But she’s still pretty confident he’ll crack if she goes for him.

She knows, also, that it has to be his cock, or nothing. First, because she wants it with fierce, gut-twisting desire. It’s weird, usually she fantasizes about kissing, and skillful tongues, and clever fingers – not so much about penises. But there’s something about Ryan – again, it takes her beyond herself. She has never spent so much time thinking about a dick, any dick, as she’s spent thinking about his dick. Not his mouth kissing her or his hands groping her, but the feel of his hard-on in her hand, in her mouth, under her tongue, pounding into her, making her scream. The thought of it makes her wet.

More importantly, it’s the only way her plan will work. Because anything shy of grabbing his cock and making him come is not going to sway him. She can just imagine Ryan gently pushing her away if she tries to kiss him, whispering something about Seth, about how it’s a bad idea – even if he’s hard and wants her, because he will _not_ admit to it. That would be betrayal.

But Summer knows all about betrayal, and about guilt. She was brought up Catholic for one and there’s nothing you can teach a Catholic girl about guilt. One thing she has learned is that the more people you betray all at once, the less you feel the guilt. Share the guilt over a wide enough area, and you end up spreading it so thin that it becomes almost transparent. So, cheat on everyone you know – Seth, Zach, Coop and Lindsay, all at once, boyfriends and girlfriends past and present – and it will, paradoxically, be much easier.

That’s the theory, at any rate.

So now it’s just a question of making that first move, following her instinct, risking it. What’s the worst that could happen? Ryan jumps several feet in the air, bats her hand away and runs off. No – that’s not very Chino, is it? Maybe he’ll narrow his eyes at her, look angry, shame her into letting go of him, and she’ll be the one running off. That’s more his style.

Focus, Summer, focus. Get your skills together.

And she has got skills. Pretty fine skills. She may have been a virgin when she got together with Cohen, but it’s not like the virginity bit was the be-all and end-all of her sexual experience. Summer has had _some_ practice before that (and a little since). She gives good handjobs, for instance (she’s not afraid to grip hard). Maybe not quite as good as her blowjobs, but she privately thinks those ought to be legendary, except that perhaps it’s not the best thing to be remembered for when you’re at school. Still, she is _damn_ good.

She shoots a last sideways glance towards him, and lingers on his profile lit by the flickering light from the giant screen. He’s fucking good-looking, Chino, and even though she’s all about the cock right now he definitely has very kissable lips, and she hopes that if her dastardly seduction plan works she will get to taste them, too. Eventually.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she knows she’s about to make a colossal mistake, something that may deliver instant gratification but is going to fuck up her life seriously, and Ryan’s even more. But it’s about sex, and she’s seventeen, and if she isn’t going to listen to her hormones now, when will she?

So when her hand lands on Ryan’s groin she doesn’t waste any time beating about the bush but places her palm lengthwise on his cock, her fingers grasping assuredly at him, and she’s rewarded by a sharp intake of breath, and instant hardening under her touch. Seriously, if he was half-hard a second ago, now he’s bursting out of his jeans, and Summer is totally vindicated.

He doesn’t say anything, nor does she, and when she steals another quick look at his face she can see the flush creeping up even in the dim light, and his eyes are closed, the lashes fluttering against his cheeks in a most attractive manner. She takes this as an encouragement, and she tugs at his zipper, pops a button, and why is she even surprised to feel hot flesh against her fingers? It stands to reason that Chino would go commando.

Ryan hisses and his hips push forward into her palm, and Summer smiles a secret smile and does a little dance of victory inside her head because she was fucking right. Again. And boys, even the complicated, reserved, morally upstanding ones like Ryan – boys are easy. She knows how to handle boys. With a firm grip for a start, as she wraps her hand around his erection – nice dick, Chino – and starts stroking him with a steady rhythm, breaking it briefly to lick her palm before returning with renewed vigor.

Ryan hasn’t said a word, but his breathing is getting heavier, and Summer sees him biting his lip, and he’s thrusting into her hand so hard she knows he’s not far off coming. Hah! She knew it – he was dying for it all that time. She’s trying to keep detached because what she really wants to do know is straddle him and slip the length of his cock inside her, but even though there aren’t that many people around them, she thinks actual fucking might get them booted out. So she pretends she’s not really here, even though she can feel her heart hammering in her chest, and she swears there will be a wet patch on her seat when she gets up.

It’s very much a ‘right hand knows not what the left hand is doing’ moment – or that’s the impression she’s trying to convey. If she doesn’t think about it too much then it’s almost like it’s not happening, she tells herself, but of course that doesn’t work because now she’s thinking about it twice over. In the meantime, she feels hot, very hot – dirty hot, and wet. She’s completely getting off on this, on the power of it, not just the hotness of Chino’s heavy breathing, his contained moans, his hard slick dick in her hand (but that too).

Ryan gives a low growl, or a groan, or something – an indistinct noise in his throat, very primal and male and _sexy_ , and then his hips jerk and he’s coming and Summer watches his cock spurting creamy strands onto her hand, her wrist, and his T-shirt, thick gobs of the stuff. She feels like she’s in a porno, and she seriously has never been as turned on as she is now. Ever. She’s wondering whether she should sneak a hand down her pants, just in case he doesn’t, because she knows she could get off instantly, she’s so wet. She glances up at his face, and his eyes are still shut, and he’s biting his lip so hard she bets he’s tasting blood.

And then the shuddering ceases, and he lets out a long shaky breath, and his eyes pop open.

Summer wants to close hers, because she kind of fears how he’s going to look at her, now he’s come. Maybe it’s going to be reproach, or disgust, or anger, or disappointment, and she doesn’t want any of those emotions. What she _does_ want is a return favor, and maybe more, too, and she thinks he’s going to offer. It’s Ryan; he’s all about the chivalrous behavior, the white-knight-ness of it all. He opens the door for girls, pulls chairs out for them, carries their stuff. Of course he reciprocates when he gets an orgasm. That was part of the plan from the start. Right, Chino?

Her hand is still in his lap and he’s moving under it, zipping himself up, wiping her wrist with something – his T-shirt, she guesses, gross, but he probably doesn’t have much choice. She risks a glimpse through her lashes at him, and he’s staring right back at her, looking quizzical, and just a little taken aback by the whole thing. He catches her eyes, through the lashes, in the dim light, and he doesn’t say anything but she can read his expression pretty damn clearly, and she feels her mouth going dry because right about…. _now_ his hand lands on her thigh, tracing a line across from the outside to the inner thigh, his fingers calloused and rough against her soft skin.

So she opens her legs for him, and closes her eyes, because this only works if they’re not looking at each other, and she’s pretty sure he’s going to keep staring at her all the way. It’s not going to take long, she thinks; she’s so aroused already. When his fingers graze her clit through her thong – which is embarrassingly wet, so wet she can imagine the smug fucking grin on his face, but she will _not_ look – her hips buck up of their own volition, and she has to bring her hand to her mouth to stop herself moaning.

He barely touches her though, his fingers tracing the outline of her pussy, pressing against her clit lightly, teasing her. Summer wants to cry in frustration. She pushes her hips forward, tries to follow his hand. The thing is, she is so close to coming, it is a real torture – release is within her reach but keeps eluding her. She’s whimpering under her breath, and Ryan finally takes pity on her because next thing she knows he slips his hand past her thong and starts circling her clit assuredly – no fumbling there, thank you very much – and Summer feels the tension building up in the pit of her belly.

God, he knows how to touch a girl, and to keep a steady rhythm going, and fuck, he moves his hand around so that his thumb is on her clit now, and he slips one, no, two fingers into her wetness, hooking them slightly to hit her fucking G-spot – Christ, what _do_ they teach them in schools in Chino? – and Summer is focusing every fiber of her body and mind on not screaming the theater out. Because this is shaping up to be way more intense than any orgasm she’s ever had with a boy; and if truth be told, even better than the ones she has with the showerhead at home. Which is saying something.

She’s arching into his hand, her whole body stiffening, and she’s sunk her teeth into the back of her wrist, biting hard to stifle her cries as she peaks and cascades into orgasm, the pleasure overwhelming to the point where she is almost sobbing with relief.

Fuck. Like she’s going to let something like _that_ not happen again.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Ryan_

To say Ryan is surprised when Summer’s hand lands on his dick is a considerable understatement. Actually, if he is honest with himself, when this whole evening started, he did have a fleeting fantasy of something not entirely unlike this, except that in it she was going down on him with that glossy pout of hers, her mouth stretched obscenely around him, her tongue dancing along his shaft, because he bets Summer gives good head. Not that he ever asked Seth (who would only have been too glad to over share), but she looks like the kind of girl who does, and Ryan’s usually right about those things. But he never expected anything to happen. Let alone _that_.

And there’s a fight lasting all of thirty seconds, perhaps, in his heart and soul when it happens. All his principles – and he is pretty principled, he knows that – are going up against his hormones; but it’s been such a fucking long time since he’s had _any_ play that even a handjob has got to tip the balance over and the hormones win, easy, because Summer really has a deft touch, and she moves quick and – fuck, he is powerless to resist a girl who grabs his cock with no warning, and gets into his pants so fucking quickly. Especially when she lets go of him for a few seconds, and licks her palm like a pro, and grabs him again, almost as hard as he jerks himself off.

Also, he’s always wanted to get to know Summer better, and it’s not like she’s going out with Seth right now. Even if, yeah, this represents every breach of the guy code and then some, but the _other_ guy code also states that when a hottie grabs your dick you let her do her worst. And anyhow, honor codes pretty much fall by the wayside when a girl’s that good at jacking cock.

Ryan is amazed at how little time it takes him to reach pretty much the point of no return, and how good it feels. He really wants to grab her by the back of the neck and push her down into his lap, get her mouth onto him, and he suspects she would comply if he did, but at the same time he’s getting so close he might as well just go with the flow. He can hear her panting next to him, clearly she’s getting off on this – and he feels his balls tightening with his approaching climax, and pushes into her fist harder, biting hard on his lip until he tastes blood, eyes screwed shut, and the release is un-fucking-believable, his whole body shaking with it.

Christ, she got him off in what, five minutes flat? Eight at a push. He really is out of practice. But God, that felt good, and he feels pathetically grateful to her for this orgasm. Guilty as hell, yes, and his gut is already twisting at the thought of Seth – who _cannot_ know, must never find out – not to mention all the other people involved in their pentagon, no, hexagon, of betrayal. But he’s relaxed, for now at any rate. He knows it won’t fucking last, he can feel the angst building up already, but right now he’s still basking in the tingly afterglow of coming, for just a few seconds, and her hand is still in his lap, heavy and warm.

Then he remembers that his dick is hanging out, he’s come all over himself, and Summer’s hand, he’s in the middle of a movie theater – and she probably expects something in return. As he wipes himself and her on his T-shirt, wincing slightly (it’s kind of disgusting, but what’s the alternative?), he considers briefly going down on her, figuring he might get away with it. Except that he checks, and there really isn’t much space between the seats, and he’ll end up jammed and look like a complete ass if they get caught.

So despite a serious (and understandable after all this drought) craving for a taste of Summer’s cunt he decides to go the easy route. He turns to look at her, wondering whether she’s going to say anything. He’s still kind of surprised at the whole turn of events – not that he’s never been jacked off before in a movie theater, but he generally got a little more warning. Also, all this touching with no kissing – it’s not what he expects from Newport girls, even the ones that put out on a regular basis. It’s more Chino, and hardass girls with attitude, the kind that suck a guy off in back alleys, kneeling by the dumpsters, while he does his best to hang on to the brick wall with his fingernails, willing his knees to keep holding him up.

Their eyes meet, briefly, and Ryan knows he must look a bit puzzled, but Summer’s eyelids close almost immediately, and she tips her head back, imperceptibly, so he lets his hand touch her thigh, slide along the smooth waxed skin, until he reaches the soft yielding flesh near her crotch and then her legs just part for him.

When he touches her between the legs, he’s gratified to notice how wet her underwear is, the lace sopping with her juices, wet enough that he can feel his erection returning, even though it’s just been a few minutes. So he teases her a little, barely touching her, stroking her with the tips of his fingers until she’s thrusting her hips at him, making little frustrated noises, while he looks at her face. She’s completely desperate, and Ryan figures that when he touches her for real, she’ll probably come quick, the thought of which makes him horny again. She looks so fucking _hot_ with her mouth half open and her eyes closed. She’s _that_ close to begging him and while Ryan finds the thought of her pleading pretty arousing, he also finds the thought of her coming under his fingers very… enticing.

By the time his fingers are on her clit and inside her very wet pussy, she’s writhing and biting her wrist, and Ryan can feel his pulse accelerating as he concentrates on keeping the rhythm going, hitting all the right spots – yeah, judging by her face he’s doing just _fine_ – because he really wants to give her as much release as she extended to him, earlier. Or more.

And Summer does not disappoint. Her whole body arches into her oncoming orgasm, her hips rising off her seat, and Ryan is mesmerized by the way she completely surrenders to her pleasure, from her pussy contracting around his fingers, her legs quivering and her fists clenching, to her breath, which comes out in sobs around the flesh of her wrist. He’s totally hard, again, and he’s seriously considering dragging her outside to her car and fucking her on the back seat, his cock slamming wetly into her until she screams his name and collapses face down and sweaty, and he comes again, throbbing inside her. Fuck, it’s been so long since he’s actually had sex, it feels almost logical to act on this.

Except he doesn’t, because they’ve already breached enough fucking rules for one evening. But as he looks at Summer’s face beaded with sweat, her hair curling damply against her forehead as she struggles to calm her breathing, he wonders if he’s got the balls to walk away from her without actually fucking her at some point.

Ryan knows that when his dick finally shuts up his conscience is going to pipe up and he’s going to feel like the biggest shit who’s ever walked the earth. But in the meantime – actually in the meantime he’s not quite sure how to act. If this was Chino, and Summer was another bored girl looking to pass the time with a little playing around, that would be easy enough. But it isn’t and _she_ isn’t, and there’s Seth, and Lindsay, and Zach, and…

Stop. Rewind. The guilt is already beginning to creep past the post-orgasmic island of calm he’s been enjoying, like a tide lapping at the sand, and it’s only a matter of time before it engulfs him. Especially if he lets himself think about how much he enjoyed this, how much he enjoyed making her come.

So maybe it’s easier to pretend that she is one of those Chino chicks, just for a while, and that this doesn’t matter now, won’t matter tomorrow. After all, Ryan has plenty of practice at fucking girls with no strings attached. Apart from Theresa – and even Theresa was a friend before even she was a lay, and the sex was part of the whole friendship vibe, for him anyway, even though he figures for her it maybe meant a whole lot more. And it’s all changed since he came to Newport, chiefly because none of the girls he’s been involved with here have let him get that far.

He muses briefly over what would have happened if Seth hadn’t been obsessed with Summer, if he’d had his chance with her at the first party he went to in Newport when she spilled a drink over his crotch and groped him, if instead of pissing Seth off and getting his ass kicked by the water polo team he’d ended the night on a blanket on the beach getting sucked off.

Somehow they manage to sit next to each other without saying a word, and to watch the film to its end. Ryan is still trying to process what just went on, and whether she expects anything else, anything more, later. Not to mention what he’ll do if she does (yeah, like he’s going to turn her down now, if she pushes for more). He shifts about on his seat as the credits start to roll and zips up his hoodie, self-conscious about the semen stains on his dark T-shirt.

“You need a lift home?” Summer asks as they walk through the foyer, the first words she’s said to him since she grabbed his dick, and she sounds completely matter-of fact, and Ryan admires her for her capacity to play it cool. Yeah, she could fit in Chino if she wanted to. Funny, for a Newport girl Summer is remarkably un-drama queen like.

He shrugs. “I’ve got my bike.”

“Come on, Chino, you can throw it in back. I’ve got the Jeep tonight,” she says casually, so he nods. Of course. And he wonders if there’s a hidden agenda there.

The drive home threatens to be another silent affair, the gap between them, which was filled by the film soundtrack, is now plugged by some anonymous hit-churning radio station. It occurs to Ryan that _he_ is going to have to start any conversation about what happened in the theater, and the thought of it makes him snort.

“What’s so funny?” Summer asks, shooting him a glance, as she pulls over at a red light.

“Nothing,” he says. “Except – what the fuck…?” And he tails off because he doesn’t want to say more – or need to, really.

He can see Summer’s hands tightening on the steering wheel, her knuckles whitening, and she says nothing for maybe a whole minute. A long time, long enough for Ryan to wonder whether she will ever answer him or if he should just accept that there won’t be any explanation, ever.

But, finally, she speaks.

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “It’s not like… I really have no idea. Maybe I just went crazy.”

Her voice is wavering a little, and despite her assured air, Ryan can tell she’s unsure of herself, which of course makes him feel bad. After all, she did give him his first handjob in a very long time, and it was a _fine_ handjob. He stretches out his hand and touches the back of her wrist, delicately.

“It was nice,” he says. “And – nobody needs to know about it – right?”

She laughs. “Yeah, well, I know I won’t tell anyone. And you can’t – because then you’d have to tell them how it all started and I bet you never dish the dirt. You might fuck them and leave them, but you’re not the kind of guy who tells on a girl.”

Ryan wants to smile because of course she’s right – and anyhow he has no fucking intention of telling anyone, but he can see she’s actually thought about that, maybe even _before_ she made her move, which makes him wonder how long she’s been planning to seduce him. If that’s what it was.

“Hey, It’s been a long time since I’ve done that kind of stuff,” he defends himself.

“Well it doesn’t look like you’ve lost your touch.”

They’re near the Cohens’ but not in their driveway when she pulls over and looks at him.

“Goodnight, then,” she says, and Ryan’s not sure whether he’s supposed to kiss her, or ignore what happened, or what, but he can’t quite bring himself to be so callous as to just walk out. So he leans forward and kisses her very quickly, just capturing her lower lip between his, no tongues but more than just a peck, and then hops out and goes to retrieve his bike.

“Thanks,” he calls as she drives off, leaving him standing on the side of the road, bike in hand, watching her taillights receding until she turns a corner and he’s just alone on the street, blinking and feeling oddly empty.

When he gets home Ryan is relieved to see no lights on in the big house. He doesn’t check whether it means that Sandy and Kirsten are still out, or not home yet; whether Seth has gone to bed or is sleeping over at Alex’s in defiance of his curfew – no, Seth is the last person he wants to see. Ever. Ryan locks the door of the pool house behind him and flops on the bed without turning the lights on, just in case Seth does come home suddenly and gets the urge to come talk to him. Anything but that, he thinks. Anything.

He lies on his bed, wide-awake, trying to process what the hell went on in the theater, and where the fuck this is going, if anywhere. He absentmindedly rubs his face with his hands, and catches a whiff of Summer on his fingers, and it goes straight to his groin.

He groans, because this is getting stupid – he got his first non-solo orgasm in months, and he feels even hornier than he did before. His head is full of Summer, of her face in mid-orgasm, of her breasts heaving under her tank top, of the slick wetness of her under his fingers. The way this is going, he’s not getting any sleep soon, he reckons, so he lets his hand slide down to his dick while he replays the evening in his head, stroking himself off roughly, remembering the feel of her small fingers around his shaft, her panting breath, her wet slit, her hot cunt, her stifled moans, until he comes, hard. He could get used to this, he thinks to himself before falling asleep, exhausted, with Summer’s face still dancing in his head. But he shouldn’t.

 

********************************

His night is haunted by dreams of Summer, and by the ghost of Seth, or someone – always behind him, never there when he looks. He sleeps fitfully, tossing and turning, waking repeatedly for brief disorientating moments before sinking again in sleep. By morning, Ryan feels drained, and entirely unprepared for facing Seth in the kitchen over breakfast. He figures if he eats early enough he can slip off before Seth comes down and bypass the compulsory sharing time. The sharing time would kill him right now, sinking him under a weight of guilt that, while targeted arguably at the wrong guy, since Summer is actually _Zach’s_ girlfriend, and Zach too is his friend, is nonetheless undeniable.

Ryan knows enough to be thankful for small mercies, and when he makes his escape he’s so relieved he managed to avoid Seth he almost feels a weight lifting off his chest. Only for a short while, but it counts. He hits the boardwalk – early, it’s barely nine – and cycles around to keep himself warm in the chill December air. In a semi-conscious nod to his Chino days, he’s wearing a black hoodie with a leather jacket pulled over it. An expensive leather jacket, a present from Kirsten that he rarely wears, but for once it seems appropriate.

He still doesn’t know how to process the Summer situation, apart from two things. One, he’s _never_ telling Seth. And nor is she. No matter what. Two, he’ll go to hell for this, but given half a chance, he’s going to sleep with her before it all ends. Whatever _it_ is. Because if he’s going to torture himself with guilt about the whole business he might as well go the whole hog.

Also, he wants her with an intensity that is slightly disturbing, an intensity which hints that there is more to this situation than the last twelve hours. And okay, Ryan will admit to having got himself off in the past to the thought of Summer – come on, the best friend’s girlfriends may be out of bounds, but fantasies, hell, fantasies are a free-for-all, and he’s a teenage boy with an active imagination and a shitload of sexual frustration to work his way through. He’s damn sure Seth has fantasized about Marissa in the past, and possibly even Lindsay; although probably not since he found out she was his aunt. But Ryan has never allowed himself to think of Summer as a real prospect, and not just because of Seth – she’s too much of a high-maintenance Newport bitch, not his kind of girl. Except, perhaps, he’s wrong about that.

Ryan leans against the railings, his bike on the boards at his feet, staring out at the flat expanse of the Pacific and watching the waves come in. He’s drinking a black coffee, the cardboard cup a little too hot against his fingers, the liquid just short of scalding his tongue, but the burn is good and it’s helping him keep it together. He’s feeling a little weird and fucked-up, and even if he doesn’t want to admit it to himself, last night has left him rattled, and the broken sleep doesn’t help.

In his mind, the momentum of the situation Summer kick-started last night is like the tide – there’s something about it that he is powerless to deny, powerless to resist. Or so he likes to kid himself, to justify the betrayal he’s involved in. When his cell phone beeps in his pocket he worries it’s Seth tracking him down and almost doesn’t read the message – better postpone the inevitable. But he’s wrong, of course, and although he doesn’t immediately recognize the number, he knows who sent this one word message, a message that has his dick twitching.

_More?_

And he knows she too slept badly, and feels the burden of unfinished business that hangs between them, the press of desire urging them forwards despite the guilt. Then again, guilt can be hot, too, he’s discovered. Everything that is forbidden becomes more attractive – yeah, he knows that already and suddenly Ryan craves a cigarette with an urgency he thought would have faded after all that time.

Frankly, he doesn’t understand why Seth ever left for Portland, when he had Summer on offer all day long, every day. Ryan would have spent entire weeks mapping her body, tracing the contours of her hips, her breasts, the length of her thighs, with his tongue, tasting her, making her moan under his touch, fucking her slowly, fast, gently, harder – testing out all the ways in which he could give her pleasure, and receive it, until they’d learned each other’s bodies throughout.

God, he has missed being with a woman so much.

He looks again at his handset, at the text message staring him in the face, hesitant – as if he really had any choice in the matter – and then he drains his cup of coffee (still too hot but no longer life-threateningly so) and quickly taps out his answer with his thumb; three letters; assent.

_Yes_

Because some things he can’t fight against, and evidently this is one of them.

__


	2. Guilt as an Aphrodisiac

Summer

Summer is lying on her bed, three pillows plumped behind her head, eyes half-closed, listening to the TV, random pop videos on VH1 or something, doesn’t know, doesn’t care. She’s feeling groggy after a long uncomfortable night, full of disturbing erotic dreams, of weird feelings of dread and oppression, and more than anything of constant fucking arousal. She’s been obsessing about Chino. She’s in bed in her empty house, horny, and her hand lies between her legs, not moving, just touching. She’s fantasizing about him coming round, about finishing what they started last night, what she’s spent the night dreaming. So five minutes ago, in a fit of insanity, she decided it would be a good idea to message him. 

Summer’s never at her best in the morning, and clearly, it shows, because if it were later in the day she would _never_ have done something that stupid. After last _night_? After she groped him, started the whole thing off? Hello, Summer, obsess much? She thinks he’ll think she’s desperate and sad and obsessed and ignore her. He’s bound to have seen Seth and have decided this can’t go on, that friendship is more important than a fuck, even a good fuck, with her. He’s had his fun anyhow and he doesn’t want any more. He must think she’s a slut. He definitely thinks she’s a bitch. She is, in fact, both a slut and a bitch, and desperate, too, so he’s right on all counts. He’ll never call back.

Her cell beeps.

Summer stares at it for about ten seconds before picking it up, but she knows that if the reply is that quick it’s good news, and her pulse is beating fast when she checks the screen. She wants him to turn up, bring breakfast so they can eat in bed, and fuck lazily all day long, but she has no idea how to tell him that. Then again, she asked, and he answered, and if…

The phone beeps, again.

_Now?_

And she has to laugh at the speed of it – the shamelessness of it all. They seem to have bypassed all the stuff of polite relationships (well, thanks to her, really, because after her opening gambit it’s not like there was much space left for romance), and all that remains is a powerful erotic charge. On this level, her and Chino really understand each other without needing any background or explanation. She doesn’t have to tell him what she wants, he _knows_ ; and she can pretty much figure out what he likes, too. It was never like this with Cohen, or Zach, God forbid, or any of the other boys she’s done anything with. 

So it’s got to be _Yes._

Summer sends the text, her thumb hovering for a few instants above the OK button, giving herself a last chance to pull out of this before it gets too heavy, of reclaiming sanity before being engulfed by the madness, of stopping the game before it goes too far. As if.

Then she sinks back onto her pillows, wondering how much time she has before he turns up, and what to do with it. She doesn’t want to do a big seduction act – nothing that looks like she’s trying too much – but she reckons Ryan would really appreciate a little lingerie. Besides, Summer has a _lot_ of sexy underwear that in those Zach-filled, sex-free days, doesn’t get used much and is in fact rarely seen – a crying shame when she’s spent good money at Victoria’s Secret and La Perla for some gorgeous scraps of silk and lace which complement her skin tone perfectly. 

She gets up and rummages in her dresser until she finds the perfect match – a lacy red bra and thong combo over which she pulls a tiny spaghetti-strapped tank top and loose, slightly sheer pajama pants. It looks like it could conceivably be her regular sleeping attire, only sexier, and she just applies the merest hint of makeup before returning to bed.

When the doorbell rings, she feels a rush of excitement and a touch of panic, too. It’s just sex, she tells herself – sex with Chino, it’s the holidays, nothing counts, and she just needs to scratch the itch.

“Hey,” she says, when she opens the door, managing to look demure while wearing revealing clothing, a little trick she picked up when she started wearing minis and hot pants and tight tank tops, sometime shortly after puberty, and that serves her well to this day. 

Ryan’s all Chino – black leather, hooded jacket and jeans, looking hot and dangerous and… just pure sex, like some kind of James Dean figure, and Summer already feels her thong getting damp. Jesus, the guy can get her going just by looking at her.

And boy, is he looking – his eyes scanning her top to bottom, and nothing gets past them. He notices the lacy bra peeping past the tank top, and the outline of her panties through the pajama pants, because his eyes stall there, before running down her legs and back up. By the time he actually looks at her face he’s got a grin plastered on, a little smug, which Summer both hates and loves, because it’s hot, again. 

He pushes the door closed behind him with one hand, so it slams, just, and with his other arm he hooks her around the waist and pulls her in, without saying a word, until she’s pressed against his chest, the cold leather making her nipples peak through her clothes, and she tips her head backwards. They stare at each other for a couple of seconds before he swoops in, and kisses her.

And Summer totally understands what Marissa said to her once about Ryan’s kisses (except she wishes she weren’t thinking about Coop just now), that they’re like an irresistible force, like a magnet pulling you in. She feels this wave of desire and excitement washing through her as his lips skate over hers, and his tongue pushes past, probing, searching, taking possession of her mouth until she completely surrenders to the kiss. He tastes of smoke, and his hand slides up her back and into her hair, getting tangled into it, which hurts a little but is so _right_ , and the other grabs her ass and pulls her even tighter against him, until she is molded to his body, his erection insistent against her belly, and she wants to cry, she feels so hot. 

They grapple with each other in the middle of the foyer for a good five minutes, or more, swaying gently from side to side as they get into the kissing, hands everywhere, tongues battling for possession of each other’s mouth, until they have to come up for air, and Summer steadies herself with her hands on Ryan’s hips and takes a deep breath in, trembling with the accumulated sexual tension.

“I missed that last night,” he murmurs into her hair, his voice so husky Summer feels it in the pit of her belly. Her lips feel swollen, her face a little sore – he hasn’t shaved this morning, and Chino’s not like Seth and his scraggly hint of beard that takes three days to show, no, he grows proper stubble. Which is both hot and not so comfortable, but she reckons she can handle the burn just for now, also there is no chance she’s going to ask him to stop kissing her and go shave. None. 

“I thought you quit smoking,” she says, and he shrugs. 

“Yeah well, I got back into some bad habits recently,” he snorts, his hand still on her ass. 

He pulls away a little and looks at her, with a question in his eyes that Summer reads as ‘So do we do it here, on the floor, or what?’ because there’s something in his face that doesn’t allow for anything else. He came to get laid, that much is clear, and he knows, like she does, that they’re going to regret this – but then they already regret what they have done and want more regardless. When his other hand runs up her thigh and stops, his thumb stroking the juncture of thigh and hip, Summer thinks her heart has stopped for one brief moment, and then started again at triple speed, thumping against her ribcage like mad, and there is only one thought in her brain – ‘Touch me, please touch me, now, please, do’.

But he doesn’t and he must know what he’s doing, because he smiles, like a wolf almost, a predator’s grin, and his fingers graze the skin of her inner thigh through her pants, and he moves his head so that his mouth is close to her ear.

“Bedroom?” he whispers, and Summer can just nod, and stumble backwards as he nudges her lightly, and she turns away from him and starts climbing the stairs. It’s only when she’s halfway up that she realizes he’s not following and when she turns to look he’s still at the foot of the stairs, checking her ass out with a speculative look, one hand rubbing his chin, and Summer thinks he doesn’t look anything like the Ryan she knows from Harbor, like Marissa or Lindsay’s boyfriend, or the boy who plays PlayStation with Seth. 

He looks like he’s just walked out of Chino in search of a fuck, and she suddenly understands that it’s exactly why he’s doing it. This isn’t Ryan and Summer, it’s Chino and Newport, random guy and random chick, meeting for something which is all about sex and not at all about love, or romance, or dating, or anything which might involve the gazillion people they have in common. This is sex – between a boy and a girl. No strings attached, no questions asked. Guilt – yeah, maybe, but _this_ isn’t what it’s about. _That_ will come later.

She’s perched on her step, looking down at him looking up at her, but he doesn’t move so she shrugs, turns her back on him and flounces up the rest of the stairs, wiggling her ass at him, knowing he will follow. 

He catches up with her by the time she makes it to her bedroom, and he comes in behind her, and leans against the doorframe, still watching her, until Summer feels compelled to stare back. 

“What the fuck, Chino?” she says. “Quit staring at me. Do something.”

And of course, he doesn’t do anything, just raises an eyebrow, and smirks at her, still leaning against the fucking doorframe, like he has all the time in the world and he’s not supposed to jump her, like, now. Because he totally is, and Summer is getting impatient. 

“Well?” she challenges him, and he’s looking serious and a little cold, and Summer feels a chill down her back.

“What is this about?” he asks her, and she knows that what he’s really asking is what _she_ expects of this, because he probably already knows what his boundaries are.

She looks him straight in the eye, rich bitch to bad boy, let’s keep the roles as they were, and keeps her voice steady. Now is not the time to lose it – this whole thing is about keeping it cool, handling it past the submerged rocks of guilt, shame and betrayal, into the shallow welcoming waters of sexual healing. Or something the fuck like this, because she really needs it, now.

“It’s about me scratching an itch, and you getting some for the first time since….” she keeps her eyes on his, trying to figure out what the right answer is, but he’s not giving away anything, so she hazards a guess based on what she’s heard from Marissa, “…last spring?” and he winces slightly, and she knows she’s hit jackpot, totally. 

“You and me... scratching an itch?” he asks, his tone slightly mocking, and suddenly Summer wants to slap him. She snaps.

“Yes, Chino, you and me. Not _us_. Just – I want this, you want it, we both know it’s stupid but can we just get on with it? Since when are you all about the talking?”

“You’re right,” he says, closing the gap between them and he’s back in her personal space, not touching her yet, just standing very close to her, breathing on her, making her room smell of leather and tobacco and boy, and she’s ready for him to do anything he wants to her, anything, she’ll let him. 

It’s funny, because usually Summer gets to call the shots in bed – well, she did with Seth, and with the random she slept with early in the summer to get rid of Seth’s memory, before Zach the chaste entered the picture. And she would call the shots with Zach if he weren’t such a fucking prude, too. And yeah, last night, she got the ball rolling. But now, now she’s waiting, wanting, longing for his hand, his mouth, any part of his body to grab her and _do_ something. And, of course, he knows, and he’s going to make her beg for it. Because he is such a _bitch_.

“ _Chino_!” she whines, and then Summer shuts. The fuck. Up. Because Ryan’s tongue is sliding down her neck, the only point of contact between the two of them, lapping at her pulse point, snaking back up to her earlobe, which gets sucked into his hot mouth, and Summer moans. She can feel him grinning against her neck, and his hands land on her waist. He just holds her there, while he licks his way around her collarbone and her throat, over to the other side, until she feels woozy with desire, panting, eager for more, and she reaches out and grabs great fistfuls of his hair and pulls his head up to kiss him. 

Jesus, his kiss, it takes her breath away. 

Also, damn him, she’s totally wet, and if she ruins these panties because of his ridiculous hotness, she’s going to get pissed. 

Ryan pulls away from her lips, and starts again with the tongue, just to drive her mad, except that this time he doesn’t stop at the neck but travels down, along the slope of her breast, down her strap, over her tank top and her bra, and he traces her nipple through the material, and sucks it lightly, the hot and the wet seeping through to her skin and sending electric shocks through her body. 

Get a grip, girl, she exhorts herself, but it’s damn near impossible when he runs his hand under her top, pushing away the bra and exposing her erect nipple to the air, to his mouth, to the heat and the wetness and the damn skill of his tongue, forcing another moan out of her, because he is just so damn _good_. His other hand meanwhile is busy slipping off her bra altogether, unclasping it and pulling it out from under her top, which is pushed up, exposing her breasts obscenely. 

Summer wants to stretch like a cat under Ryan’s touch, his insistent tongue, his fingers tracing the underside of both breasts, sending little shivers of lust and pleasure down her abdomen. Her thong has got to be ruined now, but she doesn’t mind at all anymore, as long as he doesn’t stop.

Ryan has yet to remove a stitch of clothing – he’s still wearing his leather jacket, his hooded sweater, his jeans (outlining his cock in stark relief), making Summer feel twice as naked. Even more so when he kneels down in front of her, his eyes on hers, and she gasps, and he smirks, again, but this time he’s totally focused, and he hooks his fingers into the waist of her pajamas, and peels the pants off her, maddeningly slowly, his calluses grazing the skin of her hips and thighs on the way down. His right hand cups her sex lightly through her thong, and Summer whimpers. 

“I’ve been wondering what you taste like,” he says, lazily, and it’s as much the husky tone of his voice as his words that make her throb. Almost involuntarily, she spreads her legs a little for his searching fingers, as he pulls off the wet scrap of lace and silk and flicks the tip of his tongue against her clit. He’s got a hand on her ass, holding her close, while his other hand is caressing her, sliding into her wetness, following the rhythm of his tongue. Summer can feel herself losing her balance, sinking into his mouth, onto his fingers, the insane rush of pleasure threatening to engulf her, and she’s panting. 

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmyfuckinggod,” she’s calling out, because she can’t help it – if last night his hand alone took her to her peak in a few minutes, this time his tongue is driving her wild. He’s licking her skillfully, hitting her clit with a regular rhythm, finger-fucking her deep, in long strokes that have her cresting the wave of her orgasm sooner than she expects, and she feels it all coalescing into one single point of tension, which explodes into a thousands ripples through her body, and she cries out, the release more intense than she ever expected. 

Her legs feel like they’ve turned to jelly, and Ryan is slowly getting back onto his feet, holding her by the waist, until they’re face to face. His chin is glistening, and he wipes it casually with his sleeve while she stares at him, heart pounding. Summer tries to read his face but he’s completely impenetrable. Except for his arousal, undeniable in his dilated pupils, his shallow breathing, his hardness against her. Suddenly she is possessed with a desire to see him naked, and she starts unzipping his hoodie, pulling it off with his leather, pushing up his wifebeater, revealing his sculpted chest, his muscled arms.

Damn, Chino’s been working out. It’s been ages since she’s seen his shoulders, and his upper arms, and Summer is sure that last time he wasn’t so damn _ripped_. She runs her nails lightly down his muscles, tracing the length of his biceps, caressing his forearms. Ryan is tensing up, good tension though, she can tell, the tension that precedes sex. And then she digs her nails into both his biceps, and gets her head closer to his smooth hairless chest, licking his left nipple, a long wet stroke of her tongue that makes him groan. So Summer does it again, and then again, and starts tracing patterns on his skin with her tongue, scoring it now and then with her teeth, and slowly, almost imperceptibly moving down his abdomen. When her teeth graze the taut skin of his stomach, Ryan shivers. 

She pulls away before she hits anywhere near the jackpot, and just looks at him. He’s losing the enigmatic expression, and is just starting to look fucking turned on, no more aloofness, no mocking there, just a half-open mouth and pure lust in his eyes. He is so damn gorgeous, bare-chested in his jeans, his dick bulging at the seam, Summer wishes she had a camera to snap him for future reference, and she does her damnedest to commit the picture to memory. 

It’s her turn to kneel down now – for some reason, all this sex standing up in the middle of her bedroom is driving her wild, and she’s determined to suck him off, something she’s fantasized about before, not to mention actually dreamed of at some point last night, she’s pretty sure of it. Ryan’s hand is in her hair, playing with it lightly, and Summer reaches up and unbuttons his jeans, pulls on the zipper, frees his cock – no boxers, again, God, he’s such a _slut_ – and it’s heavy and hard, throbbing in her hand. She strokes it gently, her fingers caressing the soft silky skin while Ryan lets his breath out shakily. 

She tugs his jeans down a little, wraps her hand around the base of his dick, and then looks up at him and licks her lips. She can’t help it, she knows she has the kind of mouth boys like to imagine around their cocks, so she wants to make damn sure he’s looking at her when she blows him. His eyes are barely blue right now, the dark center taking over, and she wonders whether he’d beg if she stopped. She snakes her tongue out, licks the head, just, and pulls away a little. His hand tightens in her hair – not quite pushing her back, but she can tell he wants to, and he groans. 

“What?” she says, mocking, because, Chino, you wanted begging? _You_ beg, bitch. 

“Come on,” he urges her, and his mouth might not, but his eyes _are_ begging her so she relents and swoops down onto him, taking as much of his cock as she can into her mouth, deep, until she’s almost gagging and Ryan is hissing with the pleasure of it. Summer always gets a real kick out of giving blowjobs – something about her own oral fixations no doubt, but more than anything else the power of it, the control she can exert over a boy, and the sheer hotness of it. She can almost get herself off on the noises a boy makes when he’s about to let go, and the knowledge that she’s the one doing that to him. So she starts sucking in earnest, her hand sliding on his cock, kneeling at his feet like a cheap whore (and that turns her on more than she cares to admit to herself, actually). 

When Ryan starts thrusting into her mouth, she feels herself getting wet again. He’s holding her head, pushing in and out, fucking her mouth, totally, and Summer is keeping the rhythm going, too, with hand and tongue, deep-throating him as much as she can, determined to give him as much pleasure as she received – it’s both good manners, and, frankly, a matter of pride. Because she is damn good at this, and he better take note, thank you very much. And, oh, here he comes.

“Jesus, Summer, fuck,” he chokes out as he explodes into her mouth, his cock throbbing, his thighs shaking, and Summer swallows the salty, bitter mouthful with a feeling of achievement – a job well done. Take _that_ , Chino, she can’t help but think. 

And, damn, she hopes he recovers quickly because about now? She’s _way_ ready for some real action. 

 

_Ryan_

Ever since he’s walked into Summer’s house, Ryan feels like he’s stumbled onto the set of his very own porno. Made-to-measure, designed to tickle his personal fantasies kind of porn, from the red lace lingerie when she opened the door to the fucking amazing blowjob she’s just given him, on her knees with her sexy-ass mouth and her hot tongue. 

She’s sat back on her heels and she looks like a total slut, naked but for her tank top, which is still pushed up, exposing her breasts with their hard nipples, just asking for his mouth or his fingers to touch them. Her lip-gloss is a little smeared around her mouth, and she’s wiping her lips with the back of her hand, challenging him with her eyes. Summer knows exactly what this looks like – sluttish it may be, but this is definitely in the ultimate male fantasy ballpark. Ryan is standing there, his legs trembling, his heart still thumping from his goddamn orgasm, and already he knows that it’s only a matter of minutes before he fucks Summer. 

Because she is just about the sexiest girl he’s ever done anything with, bar none, and the sight of her hot body, her smoky eyes, her hand trailing down her stomach and… nestling… between her legs – holy fuck, is she going to give him a floor show after this already? 

Ryan swallows, his mouth dry. Summer is lazily stroking a finger over her clit, eyeing him speculatively, as if to check how long it’s going to take him before he does something, before he grabs her and bends her over and fucks her hard. He kicks off his jeans, pooled around his ankles, and extends a hand to her, pulling her up and against him, cradling her ass with his other hand, and he kisses her, sucking on her tongue which tastes of him, the weird bitterness of his come, mixing in his mouth with the sweeter taste of her juices, and she grinds against his cock, on tiptoes. Fleetingly, he wonders whether she was that wanton, that horny, with Seth, and then he slams that thought shut, because _now_ is not the time. Come to think of it, it’s never the time to think about Seth and Summer fucking, but especially not when she digs her nails into the small of his back and presses against him and whimpers into his mouth with desire, because right about now is when Ryan realizes that yes – he’s definitely ready for more. 

He takes his mouth off Summer’s, trailing instead down her neck with wet tongue, sucking at her neck, her ear, and listening to her soft moans. He turns her around in his arms, lifting her hair with one hand, so he can go on kissing the nape of her neck while his hand goes down in search of hers, still tucked between her thighs, and adds pressure, eliciting a moan from her. His cock hardens against her ass, he’s leaking a little onto her skin, and he’s reaching the point where a condom might just be a good idea.

“Hang on,” he whispers into her ear as he breaks contact, bending down to pick up his jeans, and one of the condoms tucked into the front pocket for easy access. Ryan tears the packet and sheathes himself, and tries not to think about the fact that he’s about to consummate the betrayal of his best friend. Betrayal. He closes his eyes for a fraction of a second, and forces himself to think about Chino, and fucking Trey’s exes – yeah, there was plenty of that and Trey’s his _brother_ , right, and he didn’t care. And this is not about love or stealing anyone’s girlfriend – maybe cheating a little on Zach, but at this point Ryan can’t afford to be Captain Ethics. Also, he’s had no actual sex in something like eight or nine months, it’s got to count, right?

And then he feels her hand on his dick and thankfully all the brain activity shuts down and instincts take over as he nudges her towards the bed, shuffling a little awkwardly, and when her knees hit the edge of the mattress he puts his hand on her back and she understands and bends over, her face in the pink comforter, and her hands on either side, braced for impact. Ryan slides his hand down between her legs, feels the slickness on her thighs – fuck, he’s never slept with anyone as _wet_ as Summer – teases her with his fingers just long enough to get into position, one hand on his dick, and slams into her, lifting her hips high off the bed, with a primal grunt that sounds dirty even to his ears.

Summer lets out a long moan, and he just stays there for a second, it’s so good to be cocooned once again in the hot wet tightness – he’s almost forgotten how it feels to be actually _inside_ a girl, Christ, there’s no way he’s going without for that long ever again. For a start, it makes him do stupid things. But apart from the stupid, this is just too fucking good to be true.

“Aahh… Fuck!” he groans, and he starts thrusting hard into her, and she evidently likes it, because she’s bucking her ass and pressing against him, and they’re catching a rhythm, he’s hooked his fingers around her hips, holding her in place as he pistons in and out, harder, faster, and Summer starts swearing, a stream of unintelligible profanities cut with long moans which make Ryan even harder. He reaches a hand round, presses it onto her clit, circling, and she arches her back and pushes herself further onto him.

She’s cursing him now and in between the grunts and the moans he can hear her mumbling “Yes, yes, yes, harder, you bastard, yes, please, yes, fuck me, Chino, oh God…” and then she comes again, clenching around him and screaming, until every last vestige of his self-control evaporates and he lets rip. He can feel his balls tighten with a fucking unbelievable orgasm, and when it comes he finds he too, is crying out because, Jesus, he hasn’t had a fuck like that since he doesn’t know when. And it feels like he’s about to have a heart attack, his heart is exploding out of his chest, and he wants to cry.

Just as well, really, because as the buzz fades, the guilt kicks in with a vengeance. 

He doesn’t get much of a post-orgasmic high – and he can tell Summer, too is troubled. She’s collapsed on the bed, and Ryan’s joined her, because his legs can’t hold anymore – coming twice standing up is taking its toll, even if it’s hot. His arm is wrapped around her waist, they’re breathing in sync, slowly returning to normal, except that nothing’s normal anymore now. Somehow things have cranked up a notch – last night was bad, sure, but the weirdness of it, the detachment, the fact that they brought each other off with hardly anything else – no touching, no kissing, no talking… it was slightly unreal. 

Now on the other hand, there is no escaping the guilt. Even as he cradles Summer in his arms, in a loose hug, all Ryan can think of is Seth. Well, and Zach, too, and even Marissa, despite the fact that Marissa has nothing to do with this. He wonders idly whether there is a girl code about dating each other’s exes. Who is he kidding? Of course there’s bound to be. And he’s as guilty as the next man, guiltier, in fact. 

But – if he’s going to be honest about this, what just happened wasn’t just the first sex he’s had in months, it was also his best fucking lay in… possibly ever. There’s something about Summer that really triggers deep-seated desires and wants in him, and boy does she know how to push his buttons. Especially with all the twisted feelings evoked by their transgression. 

He pulls her closer, pushes tendrils of sweaty hair away from her neck and plants a kiss on her collarbone. Summer rolls onto her back, and the minute her eyes meet his he knows he was right – he can see the self-loathing as clear as if it was written on her forehead. Ryan sighs. What they did is unforgivable.

“Hey,” she murmurs. “That was…” She bites her lip, tries a lighter tone. “You’re pretty good, Chino.”

Ryan has to smile. A for effort, Miss Roberts. 

“You’re not bad either, Newport.”

He wonders whether he can get away with a cigarette in her bedroom, because the nicotine craving he gave in to a couple of hours ago is back, and right now he’s peculiarly vulnerable to bad ideas, especially the ones that involve instant gratification and not thinking about the consequences of his actions. Smoking, therefore, makes perfect sense.

He eases his arm out from under Summer and gets off the bed, picking up his leather jacket to search for his newly acquired pack of Marlboros and a box of matches. He takes them out and looks at her, eyebrows raised, in a mute question, and she nods. 

“Give me one,” she says. “But open the window first.”

And they’re lying next to each other on their backs on Summer’s pink and fluffy bed, sweaty and sticky and spent, both smoking in silence. Ryan has the lid of a small metal box on his chest to use as an ashtray, and Summer fastidiously taps her ash away every few seconds, in between deep drags which make Ryan wonder whether she too smokes in secret; like he does sometimes. 

“So what do we do now?” she finally says, after the silence has stopped being companionable, and turned into uncomfortable, the silence of two people trapped in something they can’t avoid and won’t discuss. 

“I don’t know,” he answers, and he really doesn’t. Logic would dictate he gets the hell out of here and they pretend nothing’s happened. But somewhere in the back of Ryan’s mind, somewhere deep in his lizard brain, there’s resistance to this sensible course of action. So instead he asks a different question – one straight from the reptile side.

“When is Zach back from Cabo?” 

And he can tell from Summer’s deep breath in that she is surprised, and from her answer – “Not until next Saturday.” – that maybe the surprise is welcome. 

“Cool,” he mumbles, and takes another long drag.

“Lindsay?”

“We’re not.... She’s… taking time off. Space. Trying to figure this whole Caleb thing out.”

“Un-huh.”

They’ve all but set out the parameters within which they can carry out their – what, fling? Affair? No-strings fucking interlude? Guilt trip sex? All he knows is it means there will be more intense fucking, more listening to the noises she makes when she comes, more tasting and touching of her cunt, her tits, more of her tongue, more of her welcoming heat. Right now, that’s all Ryan wants – even if it means his conscience will stop him sleeping, and he won’t be able to look Seth in the eye. 

At least there’s a natural time limit on this – once they’re back in school, it’s over. They don’t even need to discuss this. What happens during Christmas break ends with Christmas break.

Ryan feels strangely detached. He thought the sex would make a difference and it has – more angst, less itch – but the basics haven’t changed. He wants more of Summer, he feels he’s barely touched the surface there; and he hates himself for having now erected a barrier between him and Seth. There’s not much he deliberately keeps from Seth – he won’t talk to him spontaneously about his life in Chino, but when Seth asks, he’ll answer his questions. This, though, is altogether different. Seth will never ask – it’s not like he’ll guess, and Ryan doesn’t intend to drop any hints – and Ryan will never tell. 

He crushes the cigarette in the makeshift ashtray – lifting it from his chest to avoid branding himself inadvertently, and sits up. Summer’s still lying down next to him, looking disheveled and still totally pornographic, with her tank top pushed up nearly to her shoulders. He puts the ashtray away and smoothes the shirt down, over her breasts, trying not to let his fingers linger. On impulse, he kisses her navel, which makes her squeal. 

“I’ve got to go. The Cohens are going to wonder where I am.” Briefly, Ryan wonders whether Seth will be able to smell Summer on him. He’s sweaty and probably reeks of sex, anyway. “Can I use your shower?”

The water is hot, and the shower spacious, and if he had more time, he’d consider sharing it with Summer. Actually, that might be an idea for later. Ryan scrubs himself quickly, efficiently, but doesn’t wash his hair, in case Kirsten spots wet hair mid-morning, and asks questions. He steps into his jeans and walks back into the bedroom to pick up his wifebeater and sweater, trying not to notice Summer’s eyes on his arms, his chest, as he pulls them on. Her frank appraisal of his body turns him on, and if he starts reciprocating they’ll be back at square one. So he focuses on getting dressed, getting out of there, and pretending nothing out of the ordinary happened. 

When he turns to say goodbye to Summer, he notices she’s put on some sweatpants, and a filmy sweater over her tank top – covering herself up to match him, so she isn’t at a disadvantage. It was hot earlier, the disparity between her nakedness and his outdoor clothes, but clearly after the act she feels more vulnerable. Ryan understands this.

“Don’t see me out. I know the way,” he says as she stands up. He wants to cut loose, now. Otherwise God knows what will happen.

“Okay,” she shrugs. “Thanks for… you know. Even if this is… fucked-up.”

Ryan laughs. Sure, like she’s only found out now. “Yeah. It was cool. Maybe…?”

Summer shrugs again. “Maybe. It would be– ”

“… a shame?” he supplies.

Yeah, it would be a shame not to. That kind of guarantees a follow-up. 

On his ride home, he can’t stop thinking about Seth. And Lindsay. Actually, he’s deliberately avoided thinking about Lindsay since last night – perhaps because the Seth betrayal is deeper, worse. After all, Lindsay and him are, to pick a popular phrase, on a break. Or something. Not that she would see it like that, he suspects, but tough. Ryan knows she’s unlikely to let him fuck her even if she does decide to get back together with him, and he’s fed up with waiting, always waiting. Still, now, as he cycles home, he sees her face, her eyes, her mischievous smile and he feels like a shit.

Better get used to it, he thinks.


	3. Written on the Body

_Summer_

Now Ryan’s left, it feels almost like a dream – except for the stickiness between her thighs, the raw soreness in her sex, her aching legs, her swollen mouth. And that spent feeling, the overwhelming desire to go back to bed, to mull this over and figure out what the hell happened there with Chino. God, but she needed that – it’s been months since she’s felt well and truly fucked. Because this wasn’t making love, this wasn’t even having sex, or getting laid – this was _fucking_ , glorious, full-on, Technicolor fucking, and – oh, Ryan knows how to fuck. Summer can still close her eyes and smell him on her skin, feel him in her cunt – he’s imprinted himself all over her body and she doesn’t want to let him go right now.

She stretches back onto the bed, yawning, wondering where this is going. Clearly no further than the end of the week – but within that? How the hell are they going to avoid Cohen and his Coheny ways and get themselves some action? She can see Ryan lying, slipping out under cover of darkness, pretending to go for runs, cycling round on the sly. She can imagine herself tiptoeing into the pool house in the middle of the night, cornering him at a party, fucking him in her car.

She doesn’t know right from wrong anymore, she realizes, only that she needs more to this, more of him, and that although she’s sure when it comes to an end it will be unbearable, nonetheless she can’t imagine it turning into anything else than sex. _That_ would be inconceivable. The whole basis for their affair – affair, yes, for want of a better term, and also because Summer likes the grown-up sound of it – is stealth. Secrecy. Keeping it hidden, under wraps, never to see the light of day. Otherwise – oh, she can’t imagine the hell breaking loose. Easier to deal with the guilt, silently.

Besides, she wants to fuck Chino, not date him.

Dating – that’s for the likes of Zach. Nice, safe, sensible, good-with-dads, charming, congressman’s son, perfect husband material Zach. Or Cohen – definitely less successful on the dad front, but nonetheless a dating kind of guy. Chino? He’s never been good at it, not even with Coop. He’s not a guy you go out with – he’s a guy you go home with. It would be so much easier if he wasn’t Cohen’s sort of brother and best friend, if their lives weren’t completely entwined.

When she thinks about it, Summer can’t deny she still has feelings for Cohen. It’s annoying, especially the way he’s been behaving with her and Zach, but she does think about him more than she ought to. And right now she really doesn’t want to be thinking about him. In fact, Seth is the last person she wants in her brain at this point, when she’s still busy processing Ryan and his amazing skills.

It is a thought that will recur over the next few days when they meet in secret – on Wednesday afternoon, when Ryan goes running and shows up at Summer’s door sweaty, wearing just shorts and a wifebeater, his hair damp and his skin tasting of salt, and Summer goes down on him in the kitchen after pouring him a tall glass of juice which he drinks thirstily. She kind of gets off on his sweaty, musky smell, it makes her hot and wet. Afterwards, when he fucks her standing in her shower stall, her legs wrapped around him, while she braces herself against the cold tiled wall, the hot water streaming over them, Summer comes hard, sees stars, bites his neck, leaving teeth marks for all to see at the juncture with his shoulder. No more ‘beaters for a while, Chino, she thinks, oddly satisfied with herself, even though she knows it’s stupid.

At some point on the way back he’ll have to take his top off and sling it negligently around his neck, to hide the red crescent cut into his flesh, and the thought makes her feel hot, again.

She tries not to count the days, but she can’t help it. She feels like her body is making the decisions for her now – she can feel Ryan in it, on it, at every turn. Her breasts feel swollen and tender, her nipples erect, craving his touch. Her thighs are sore, her legs aching, She walks around in a daydream much of the time, thinking back to their last encounter, or ahead to the next, constantly aroused, tingling, visions of him and his naked body intruding into her mind each time she closes her eyes. She’s walking on a knife-edge of desire and need, all the sharper because it is doomed to end, to be buried, forgotten, in just a few short days. It’s as if Summer has surrendered her control, and she’s not really looking forward to getting it back.

This is not the kind of behavior Summer Roberts expects from herself. If she stopped to think, she would be appalled at what she’s let happen to her. But of course if she’d stopped to think in the first place she probably wouldn’t be here now.

There’s nothing she won’t let him do, she decides on Thursday night when he climbs in through her window after lights out, and she almost wishes he was kinkier, because she would try stuff with him that she wouldn’t with anyone else, but Ryan doesn’t bring handcuffs, or attempt anything weird. She doesn’t turn the light on, and they have to be silent, which is kind of extra hot, but they strip by moonlight, and they fuck on the bed, Ryan holding her hands above her head as he pounds into her, and he keeps his mouth on Summer’s to swallow her cries when she comes, arching her back and pushing his weight off the bed.

If Summer really thinks about it, she’s come more often with Ryan in four days then she had with Seth in five months. She’s pretty sure of that – and more intensely, too, which makes her worry that Ryan is spoiling her for other guys. Except that right now, she doesn’t care, when he licks a trail down her belly and between her legs and she loses it, again.

She’s successfully managed to avoid Cohen all this time, but Coop – not so much. Still, these days, Marissa is drunk a lot of the time, which makes casual conversation easier, and makes it improbable that she’ll notice anything.

So far, it’s worked. That, and making sure she wears slightly less revealing clothing than usual. Because all this intense, sweaty sex is leaving Summer with bruises and scratches, abrasions, bites, hickeys and thumbprints all over her body, and while it’s very sexy and makes her feel deliciously perverted and grown-up to have her lover’s – _lover_? – marks on her body, it’s less easy to explain to your best friend where they come from. It may have been a while, but Summer is damn sure that Marissa still carries some sort of a torch for Ryan, and she’s not going to jeopardize more than a decade of close friendship over a fuck, even one as fantastic as Chino.

No. And they’ve agreed nobody need know. Ever.

They text each other, Ryan and Summer, short conversations that go:

_Tonight?_

_Later – 1am ok?_

_Yours?_

_Deal._

Or:

_Free until 2pm. You?_

_Going running?_

_Yes. See you in 20?_

_Cool._

Even when they eschew the text and actually talk to each other, it’s always monosyllabic, cryptic exchanges in case Seth turns up in the room, or whatever. It’s not about the talking, anyway. Summer’s pretty sure Ryan deletes all records of his communications with her, and she does the same – because you never know with Cohen, and even if Zach isn’t that kind of guy, why take the risk?

All the way through, though, she makes sure that she reminds herself this is just an aberration, a short-lived moment of madness that will cease by the end of the week. Friends. That’s all they are, all they will be.

She just hopes her body will understand, because the way she reacts to Ryan these days – well, let’s just say it’s not going to make school any easier.

 

_Ryan_

It’s a weird paradox that Ryan has never had as much sex as he is having at the moment with Summer and yet he’s got a perpetual hard-on and is always wanting more. He’s high on hormones and pheromones half the time, and having to watch his step all the time. All the fucking time, because there’s Seth lurking, and Sandy and Kirsten who aren’t the blind parents Summer has to deal with, and even for a master of emotional concealment, it becomes difficult after a while. Especially when your dick is poised to betray you at every turn.

It’s almost enough to make him wish he was a girl. But not really.

He’s had to face Seth, to talk to him, pretending nothing’s happened, that all is normal, that he isn’t secretly fucking Summer every day, skimping on sleep and everything else to catch an hour here or there, his senses on alert, honed, his dick raw with the workout.

Friday morning, Ryan’s trying to figure out whether he has the evening to himself – Seth is bound to be at the Bait Shop, when his phone beeps.

_Dinner with Dad tonight – sorry. Later?_

He bites his lip, disappointment already taking hold – he was hoping for a lengthy evening with her, for their goodbye fuck. Still, he can sleep in tomorrow – late night no object.

Especially if it’s their last night.

_Pool house_? he texts back.

Because he’s realized that he has no memories of her in his bed, and while in a way it’s probably a good thing, he knows that these memories will come in handy (and he’s trying to ignore the multiple puns there) in the future. Also there’s something about the increased possibility of getting caught.

Ryan shakes his head. He’s turning into a fucking perv. How the fuck will he cope with Lindsay’s innocent ways after that? If she ever decides to give him another go – not that he deserves it. But strangely, he wants it, too, wants her, even though it’s in a haze, beyond the insistent need for Summer.

Which is mutual. Her text back flashes on his screen. _Sure._

Sometimes Ryan wonders whether he’s stumbled into a parallel universe – where nothing makes sense anymore except for the imperative of Summer’s body, his response, their joint need. And he knows it will take a superhuman effort of will tomorrow, when this is over, and they have to go back to being friends. Thankfully, friends who don’t spend that much time together, and never alone. But taming his dick when he sees her will require an immense amount of discipline – right now just the thought of her makes him hard.

When Seth walks into the kitchen he summons differential equations to his brain in a spirited attempt to keep his erection in check. Surprisingly, it works. Math and Seth – an unbeatable combination.

“Ryan, my man,” Seth calls out in greeting. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, well, you’re always out,” Ryan shoots back, shrugging.

“You should come to the Bait Shop more often.”

“You know I’m not that into live music.”

“You’re not that into anything at the mo, dude. I mean, are you okay? Is that Lindsay thing bothering you? Because you’re kind of…” Seth trails off, looking a little concerned, and Ryan feels his gut clenching, the bile rising. He hopes it gets easier than this because right now, guilt? Not so hot.

“I’ve just been studying a lot,” he says, which is true. He’s been spending a lot of time avoiding Seth by focusing on his calculus and physics – hence his instant recall of differential equations.

“Ryan! Have I taught you nothing? It’s the holidays – time to chill out, play a little Playstation, hang out on the pier, go and listen to live music with your friendly neighborhood… janitor, who can get you choice tickets for nothing… Come on, I’ve barely seen you since Chrismukkah. School is important – but not that important!” Seth has talked himself into a familiar state of excitement, his brown eyes sparkling, and his naïve enthusiasm is twisting the knife in Ryan’s stomach.

“Um – when? ‘Cause I’m not sure about tonight…”

“Tonight isn’t that good anyhow – it’s some talent show featuring local emo bands. You’d hate it. Tomorrow, on the other hand, a really cool outfit is playing – I’ve totally forgotten their name but they’re good. Just your kind of thing – lots of guitars, kind of an eighties sound. Come on, you know you want to. I’ll get you a ticket.”

“Okay,” Ryan nods. Okay – tomorrow everything will be back to normal. He’s got to slip back into real life at some point, start interacting with his quasi brother, stop thinking of sex with Summer 24/7. Stop thinking of sex with Summer entirely, in fact.

It occurs to Ryan that it might not be even remotely as simple as he pretended to think when he embarked on all this. Not that he didn’t know it would be complicated; just that he didn’t expect it – _her_ – to be this addictive.

The fuck. It’s not like he has a choice, anyhow.

Seth, thankfully, has stuff to do during the day. Unusually, Seth has been busy, running errands for Alex, working at the Bait Shop, and from what Ryan understands in their occasional exchanges, getting laid sporadically. All of which keep him out of Ryan’s way until he goes to the club.

The day drags on – Ryan goes running, pounding his way across the deserted streets of mid morning Newport, finishing off on the beach, running along the waves on the damp sand. He doesn’t push himself too hard – he wants some energy left for tonight. For the same reason, he resists the temptation to jerk off in the shower – a rare show of restraint, because the minute he lets himself think about the evening, his dick takes over.

All the way through the day – whether he’s indulging in physical effort or trying to focus on his schoolwork, he can feel his mind wandering to Summer, to their self-imposed deadline, and to what happens next.

Dinner with Sandy and Kirsten is a quiet affair. Kirsten is still dealing with the shock of Caleb’s revelation, has been struggling with it all week, and Sandy – well, Sandy is trying to keep up with her, but Ryan notes again that their easy partnership is under strain, and if he wasn’t laboring under the strain of an uneasy partnership himself he’d be getting more worried about it.

He excuses himself back to the pool house after dinner, to do some reading, some studying. Actually, it turns out, to play some video games because he hasn’t got enough brain left to memorize anything, or understand complicated science, and he needs distraction from his one-track mind.

She calls him at 10pm, by which time Ryan is seriously considering calling her to find out what the fuck is happening.

“Hey – sorry. Dinner ran late, and my dad wanted to bond.” Summer sounds apologetic.

“Bond, huh? So you told him you had a hot date tonight?”

“Yeah. I always discuss the details of my sex life with my dad, assface. When can I come over?”

Ryan looks out – the Cohens are still awake, but the drapes are drawn in their bedroom, and knowing them, they’ll probably stay there. Providing Summer’s discreet, and they keep the lights off…

“Now,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I don’t want to wait any longer.” And Ryan realizes as he says it it’s the last time he can say that to her.

“Okay,” she breathes out, and she hangs up.

The next twenty minutes crawl past – and Ryan whiles away the time in front of the TV, playing some more Halo 2, anything to stave off the anticipation, which is verging on unbearable. He’s checked and rechecked his bedside table for condoms, made sure there are tissues for any mess, and that the fridge is stocked with bottled water in case she wants something to drink. The sheets are freshly changed¸ the bathroom is clean, the toilet seat down. He is ready to entertain Summer in his bedroom, in his bed, for the first and last time.

When his phone beeps he drops the game controller, he’s so wound up, and gets instantly killed for his pains.

_Coast clear?_

Ryan raises a blind, looks out – he’s in luck, the light in Sandy and Kirsten’s bedroom is off now, and the main house seems quiet and deserted. Time to seize the opportunity.

_All clear. Be quick._

He tracks her as she makes her way alongside the pool, a small lithe shape hurrying past, her shadow flitting in the moonlight, until she dives into the door he’s holding open and into his arms.

He hugs her close, inhaling her spicy scent – fuck, he’s going to miss _smelling_ her; something else he’s completely unprepared for – and as her body presses itself against his, he can feel the rush of blood, the heat blossoming up his spine as arousal takes over.

It never takes more than thirty seconds for her to get him ready. And boy, is he ready. He pushes his erection against her hip, rubbing himself against her, both because it’s pleasurable and because he knows it turns her on, too.

Summer makes a little noise in the back of her throat, like a cat mewing, and he smiles. It’s funny how in less than a week he’s learned more about what makes Summer tick than he has in months with Marissa. It reminds him of the connection with Theresa, almost.

She leans into him, tips her head back, and he can see her eyes, shining in the dark, fringed by long lashes, staring silently at him. He wants to hold her like this for a few seconds more, maybe a couple of minutes, keeping her image seared in his brain.

Except that it’s getting mushy, and this isn’t what they’re about. So instead, Ryan dips his head, and kisses her with all the dirty afterthoughts he can muster, his tongue plunging into her mouth in a pretty good imitation of what his dick intends to do to her later, and he has both hands on her ass, lifting her slightly and pulling her in tight, so her crotch is rubbing against his. As she gets into the kiss, he lets one hand slide up her back until it’s in her hair, and he pulls her even closer, their mouths fused together, their tongues tangled, out of breath.

When Summer finally breaks it off, she’s panting.

“Wow. Now _that’s_ what I call a welcome kiss,” she says. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yeah?” he says, one eyebrow raised. “What’re you thinking?”

Summer smiles as she steps back from him, her hands going to the buttons of her coat. Ryan notices it for the first time – a calf-length coat, nothing out of the ordinary, except that Summer almost never wears coats. His mouth goes dry – because he can imagine a couple of very good reasons for wearing coats.

As she undoes the buttons, he catches a glimpse of silk, lace, and tanned flesh just veiled by creamy fabric. His breath hitches in his chest – hot _damn_ she is looking scorching for their farewell fuck.

The coat falls to the ground, and Summer stands there for his eyes and although he never saw it, Ryan is abruptly reminded of the Wonder Woman incident of last year, and of Seth, who described it for him in minute detail, more times than he cares to remember. But he manages to deflect that thought pretty sharp, because what there is in front of him is totally worth his full attention.

Summer is wearing pale, cream-colored stockings, held up by a corset of some sort – a merrywidow? – which totally emphasizes her breasts, pushed up and encased in filmy lace, the nipples dark and erect. She’s in three- or four-inch spike heels and not wearing any underwear, and his gaze zeroes into the dark patch of hair at the juncture of her legs. The cream silk and lace, the contrast with her tan legs, the darkness of her pubic hair all work with each other. She is just fucking beautiful – and unbelievably sexy. Ryan just stands there like a fool, drinking it in.

“Holy shit, Summer,” he finally says, and his voice sounds parched and cracked to his ears.

“You like?” she whispers, with a smile, and Ryan nods, reaching out with one arm, his fingers tracing the down on her arm until he sees her shivering.

“What’s not to like?” he whispers back, huskily, and his hand continues to walk down her arm to the tips of her fingers and up again, crossing over to her waist, up to her breasts, and he rubs one nipple, then the other, with the pad of his thumb, enjoying the response as the already erect buds harden under his touch, and Summer sighs, a deep breath out that makes Ryan’s cock twitch.

He closes his eyes, briefly. ‘I must remember this,’ he tells himself, because he really doesn’t want to forget this moment. He suspects that even when he is old and grizzled tonight might just rank as one of the great erotic memories of his life. And then he shakes his head because with all this insistence on remembering her he’s forgetting to focus on the moment. So he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her closer, his other hand tangling in her curls and teasing her clit. He slides a finger in between her labia, barely, testing her wetness, and she grinds herself onto his hand, with a hint of desperation that passes like an electric current to Ryan.

Suddenly he can’t wait anymore. Later, there will be time for lingering over her, for leisurely pacing himself, for discovering her body anew, unwrapping it from its glorious packaging. They have all the time in the world, tonight, and Ryan fully intends to use it. Right now, though, it’s urgent fucking time, and she wants it as much as he does.

Thanks to the heels, Summer is nearer his own height, and when he bends down to savage her mouth again, she wraps her arms around his neck and he hoists her onto his hips, the heat of her wet pussy pressed against his crotch seeping through the denim. The urgency goes up a notch – as in, he’s getting close to coming in his pants, if this goes on any longer.

“Fuck,” he growls, and he backs her against the wall – one of the few walls in his house of glass, but he’s thought about this – still kissing her, his mouth sliding from her lips to her cheek, following her jawline and descending along her neck. He breathes in, the crook of her neck is where he finds her essence, he thinks – well, except for her _other_ smell, but that’s another matter entirely – and then he bites her, a sharp nip which makes her convulse against him.

Yeah, he knows what makes her tick all right.

He keeps worrying at her neck with teeth and tongue, while she starts babbling incoherent stuff, her head thrown back against the wall, her crotch rubbing against his, her heat spreading to him until Ryan finds it really difficult to concentrate. He’s holding her up with one arm, his other hand fumbling in his back pocket to extract a condom.

Somewhere he knows they should be careful about marks, that it would be stupid to get caught out because of their last time, but frankly he doesn’t give a fuck – right now he’s going to do what feels good. Fuck the consequences. They’re already sacrificing a hell of a lot for the sake of consequences.

So he tenses his legs and pushes Summer a little higher up his waist, high enough that he can undo his jeans under her ass, and while she’s there he picks a spot near her breast and sucks on her flesh, marking her with a hickey that he knows will turn purple and bruise-like, and force her to cover up for at least a week. Call it revenge – she’s had her fun, too. She clenches her legs tighter around his midriff, as a gesture of approval or protest, he doesn’t know, but he takes advantage of it to let go of her and slip on the condom.

“Ready?” he says, his hands back on her butt, preparing to thrust into her hot welcoming cunt, more for formality’s sake than because he has any doubt. She’s always been ready for him so far, and every indication is that tonight more than ever she wants it but he likes the sound of her voice when she’s really aroused, anyhow.

“Stop being such a tease, Ryan, and just fuck me,” she says, biting the words off like it’s a major effort, and he wants to laugh but instead pulls her onto his cock, his hips pushing forward, making her moan, a long drawn-out moan of pleasure that hits him in the gut. He’s thrusting in and out of her, twisting his hips slightly, trying to get all angles at the same time, making sure he’s rubbing against her clit, too, and on each out breath she lets out another moan in his ear and she’s getting louder as he pounds harder.

It reaches the point where he has to hiss at her to keep the noise down, because if she goes on like that there’s no way Kirsten and Sandy won’t hear it – for a brief deranged instant, Ryan has a vision of Kirsten standing at the door in her silky robe and then he slams the lid shut on _that_ one as quickly as he can because there are places where he does _not_ go, no matter what. Even in the realm of adolescent fantasy, some things are out of bounds.

Summer is writhing and gasping in his arms, she’s that close to coming, and Ryan’s thighs are starting to shake – the combined assault of her weight, his thrusts, and his approaching orgasm is taking its toll, so when she cries out and he feels her starting to spasm around his cock he stops holding back and gives in to the pull from his balls, lets himself explode inside her, muffling a groan in her neck. He staggers back towards the bed with her and collapses with a grunt, dropping her unceremoniously on her back and falling almost on top of her, winded.

When he’s recovered somewhat, he rolls back and props himself on his elbows and looks at her in the moonlight that filters through, and the flickering light from the TV where the game is paused. Summer’s eyes are closed, her lashes dark crescents on her cheeks, and her chest is rising and falling rapidly. She really is stunning – her pert breasts pushed forwards by the corset even as she lies on her back, her smooth thighs encased in nylon and lace, drawing Ryan’s eyes – and, soon, his hands and mouth – to the border between skin and lace, and further up. Her thighs are parted and he can just glimpse her swollen sex.

On impulse, he moves over her, one arm either side of her waist, and bends his head to her center, licking her delicately. She tastes a little weird – rubber and spermicide, not the best combination – but her ‘Oh’ of surprise, the way she spreads her legs, her whispered entreaties to be careful; it all makes it worth it.

He goes gently on her sensitive clit, his tongue flat against her, building up a rhythm. He knows her well enough to tell when he’s doing it right, and as she responds he becomes bolder, tonguing and sucking her clit relentlessly until she spasms again, with a strangled cry, and Ryan decides then and there that he wants to make her come as many times as possible tonight. Because he loves it when she loses it, the noises she makes, little sobs and moans and cries that both turn him on like nothing else and make him feel pretty smug, too.

“C’mere,” she says, still out of breath, and she winds her fingers into his long shaggy hair and pulls him to her for a long, searching kiss. Her mouth tastes fresh, always does for some reason, and no matter what she’s eaten, there always seems to be a hint of strawberry on her breath. Maybe it’s her lip-gloss. Whatever – Ryan likes it.

Another thing he’s going to miss come tomorrow.

 

 

_Summer_

Ryan tastes a little off – like her juices, and like condoms, too, and she might as well get used to this because she definitely intends to go down on him before the night is over – but his kissing technique is flawless, as ever, and Summer aches inside at the thought of giving it up. That, and a boy who can make her have orgasms like that, all the time.

Actually, it’s probably a good thing in a way, because if they were still fucking by the time school started, there’s no way Summer would be doing any studying at all – no, they’d be arranging secret rendezvous everywhere and she’d just force him to get her off, every day, non-stop, until they both dropped out of school.

Still, in the meantime she congratulates herself on having picked the perfect lingerie, because Ryan’s eyes when she opened her coat, and his hoarse voice – oh, it was just right. Exactly what she was hoping for. She always pegged Ryan for a white lingerie rather than black kind of guy. He’s all about the subtle, Chino, despite his rough upbringing. Although if she remembers well, red works too.

“So, you recovered?” she asks, teasingly, rolling over to her front and pushing him onto his back.

He shrugs, smiling. When is he not ready, he seems to say – and Summer can see for herself that, yes, Chino’s back in the game. She props herself on his chest and starts undoing the buttons on his shirt one by one, because it’s criminal that he should still be clothed at this point, but he keeps distracting her with kisses, and wandering hands on her breasts, so it actually takes her several minutes to get the shirt out of the way and to push his wifebeater over his head.

Finally he’s undressed, and lying back onto the bed, and Summer wants to cry at the thought of not seeing his damn chest anymore because, Chino’s pecs? To die for, totally.

He crosses his hands behind his head and looks at her though hooded eyes, a smirk never far from his face – Summer’s noticed that Chino smiles a hell of a lot more when he has sex than the rest of the time. She must be doing something right. And she wonders whether he’s going to be looking really brooding in the coming weeks. She knows that she is, on the inside.

He’s stretched out for her, looking for all the world like some Playgirl centerfold, all muscles and tousled hair and blue eyes, shadows playing over his body, and Summer catches her breath as she follows the trail of dark hair down his midriff to his hard cock. Damn him, he makes every other boy look like a kid, she thinks. No guy she’s ever done anything with was ever that comfortable with being naked, and stared at. If she asked him, she knows he’d probably masturbate for her. And that would be just… so hot.

“Touch yourself,” she murmurs, and she sees the flash in his eyes. _Yes._

“You what?” he says slowly, but she knows it’s just for show, he heard her perfectly well the first time, and he is going to do it.

“You heard me.”

He opens his mouth to reply to her, maybe a sarcastic line about having to do everything himself, or something, but he thinks better of it and shuts the fuck up, looking at her instead.

His right hand comes out from underneath his neck and slides down his body, trailing down his perfect chest, his hard abs – damn, Chino, that’s a lot of working out – until it reaches his dick, and he grabs it lazily and gives it a couple of strokes before reaching his palm out to her.

“Lick it.”

Summer’s mouth feels a little too damn dry for this – but she’s going to give it her best shot. She sticks out her pink tongue, licking her lips first, because she wants to see his dick jump – it does – and then laying a broad warm wet trail up his palm and up his index finger. She takes the finger in her mouth, sucks lightly, releases, and moves to the next one. By the time she’s done the pinky, Ryan’s eyes are glazed with lust.

Who’s in control now, bitch?

He keeps it together long enough to get back down to business, and then Summer just focuses on his hand, slick with her spit, sliding up and down his shaft, brushing the head with his thumb now and then, squeezing hard, jerking off for real as he gets into it. She looks back up at his face, and his mouth is slightly open, he’s staring at her – at her tits, her pussy, her legs – and she’s completely wrapped up in this jack-off fantasy. He speeds up some, and he’s really breathing heavily now, grunting as his hips start rocking into his hand.

Jesus. She’s never seen anything sexier in her life. Never. Summer feels like she’s going to die then and there.

So she does the only thing she can do and dips down and takes him in her mouth. It is extremely gratifying at this point to hear him cry out – because Chino likes to play the strong silent type, and when he cracks – hell, Summer knows she’s done good.

It doesn’t take long for him to spill into her mouth, and he’s gasping her name as he does, with random curses in between, and she swallows him.

It’s what? 11 or something, and Summer knows it’s going to be a long night. By the time she leaves, she wants to be completely satisfied. Yeah, like that will help when she wants his dick tomorrow.

That’s the way the cookie crumbles. It was never going to last, anyhow.

They’re lying next to each other on the bed, Ryan’s arm draped across her back, her head on his belly, following the rhythm of his breathing, which is steadying and slowing down now. Summer wonders whether he’s going to fall asleep – she feels like there’s still things to be done, more sex to be had, more boundaries to be pushed, or at least tested. She wants to be raw and sore and unsteady on her legs by the time she leaves – otherwise, it just won’t be a proper send-off.

“Chino,” she whispers, and he moves under her, shifting slightly.

“Mmmyeah?”

“You’re not asleep?” She can’t take it, not yet. They have to fuck at least once more, or better, spend the night fucking, coming until she can’t come anymore, until her body is exhausted and all she can do is stagger home and collapse on her bed and sleep. Then when she wakes up, it’ll be time to see Zach, and the whole thing will be over, and she’ll no longer have to be obsessed with having sex with Chino.

“No.”

“I think we should have more sex,” she says, her face half buried into his stomach, facing towards his dick, hoping it’s going to show interest in the proceedings, and that his seventeen-year-old’s stamina is going to keep them going. Luckily, it does, because it’s definitely half-hard and rising, rather than detumescing. Good.

“You might have to do some of the work,” he says, his voice rumbling under her ear.

That is so not a problem. Summer does like being in control, and with Chino, recently, it’s not like she’s had much practice. He likes to lead, to ride her, to dictate the pace. He does listen to her – even when she’s not saying anything, he really does pick up on the clues. Sometimes Summer is amazed at how perceptive Ryan is, in bed. For all the tongue-tied awkwardness he can display in normal interaction, in bed he’s this astounding mind-reader. Or maybe he just knows how to read her body – but his accuracy just floors her. And, fuck, he can make her come better than anyone she’s ever met, and that includes herself.

She reckons it’s time Ryan got a little show of his own, after the one he just performed. So she pushes herself up, until she’s kneeling over him on the bed, and she places one knee on either side of his waist, straddling him. He can look at her all he wants, and she can stare at him, too, at the pebbly hardness of his nipples – and she just has to bend down and capture one in her mouth, with tongue and teeth, until Ryan growls.

“Ooh, sensitive?” Summer mocks as she pulls away. She’s starting to get into it again, and since he’s just jerked off for her, she thinks it might be worth returning the favor. She begins with her breasts, because it turns out Ryan is really into breasts – poor guy, going out with Marissa – and she strokes her nipples through the lace; it feels a little scratchy, but hot, especially when he’s looking at her like _that._

From the nipple stroking she progresses to finger sucking with obscene displays of tongue and fingertips trailing over her lips, stuff that gets Ryan hard pretty quick. Especially when it’s followed by her other hand oh so slowly caressing her sex, barely touching her clit on the first stroke, then going deeper between her labia, coming out slick and wet, circling her clit, making her sigh.

He groans and snakes his hands up to her hips, pulling her down onto him, his cock rubbing against her crotch, his hips rising, and Summer answers by rotating her hips slowly, pressing down into his erection. Her hand is trapped between their bodies, her fingers still active on her clit, and she can feel herself tingling all over, caught in the erotic momentum.

Ryan reaches one hand to his bedside table, picks up another condom and hands it to her, wordlessly. Summer sits back on her heels, stops the clit teasing – two hands needed – and smiles as she tears the packet open. She holds the delicate latex disc between thumb and forefinger, looking at it for an instant before placing it on the tip of his cock. She slides back to let it bob up, and then smoothly rolls the condom down, taking her time, her fingers sliding down the sides of his erection, stroking it lightly, while he bucks up under hear, swearing softly. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuck, that feels good,” he mutters under his breath.

She grips it suddenly with her hand, steadies it and lowers herself onto him, her eyes on his. His mouth is half-open and he’s staring at her – at her eyes, yes, but also at her mouth as she licks her lips, at her body still wrapped in fancy lingerie which is, come to think of it, beginning to chafe, but more than anything else at his cock being swallowed by her cunt, inch by inch. Summer makes herself slide up and down, agonizingly slowly, and she starts stroking her clit again, because she is so close to coming now. Ryan smiles at her – he can _tell_ , damn his Chino skills! – and his hand joins hers, his fingers taking over, and now Summer’s the one swearing, throwing her head back and cursing him as she goes over the edge again, fireworks exploding behind her scrunched-up eyelids, whimpering his name.

He takes this as a sign to grab her hips and speed up the rhythm, thrusting up into her with grunts of effort, hitting something inside her which makes her keep coming, wave after wave of spasms, aftershocks, whatever, until she feels him throbbing inside her with a cry of release that sounds almost painful and she falls on him, sobbing with the pleasure, it’s so intense. Like, she’s never had anything like this.

Fuck, Chino can fuck.

She rolls off him onto the bed and just lies there, her heart hammering in her chest, her breath short. She’s sweaty despite the coolness in the pool house, her hair matted and damp at the brow and neck, and she can’t bear the chafing of the lace, the corset, the stockings. The shoes went south a long time ago, but her feet still feel a little tender. Suffer to be beautiful be damned. Although it was totally worth it. just for the look in his eyes, the hardness of his cock (yeah, it would have been hard anyhow. But still).

So she starts unsnapping the stockings, rolling one down her leg.

“You wanna get naked?” Ryan asks, and she can hear a smile in his voice. He sounds exhausted, too, but in a good way.

Summer nods. She’s in a total hurry to get naked, she realizes, she wants all this lingerie off her, now. She sits up and turns her back to him and, good boy, Chino, he undoes the hooks one by one, with practiced ease although she bets he hasn’t had to take one of _these_ off before.

And then she’s naked, and she can feel her flesh relaxing – she has red marks here and there where the stays dug into her, but it’s not as bad as it could be, and right now she doesn’t fucking care. Ryan wraps her in his arms and pulls her onto him, hot sweaty skin to hot sweaty skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, and she rests her head into the crook of his shoulder, relishing this rare moment of tenderness, after all the action. She could get used to this. But she won’t, no.

Somehow time slows down and stops entirely, and then she must have fallen asleep because suddenly there’s a noise at the door, some hurried knocking, the sound of a door handle rattling, and Summer is more awake then she has ever been, her heart is going 150 beats a minute at least, and she is in full panic mode.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Ryan,” she whispers, shaking him awake. Fucking teenage boys and their heavy sleep.

“Ryan, are you up?” goes a whispered entreaty from the other side of the door, and of course it’s Seth.

Summer looks around her desperately – her underwear is strewn about the bed, her coat lies on the floor near the wall, she can pick it up discreetly, slip into the bathroom, hope that Ryan can deflect Cohen’s enquiries.

“Chino!” she hisses.

“Uh?”

“Seth!”

“Fuck.” All of a sudden he’s well and truly awake, scrabbling to grab a T-shirt and some boxers from somewhere. “Get into the bathroom. I’ll get rid of him.”

Summer nods frantically, scurries about the room. Picking up her coat, her bag, the discarded condom on the floor, hiding the underwear under the comforter. But she knows he can’t allow Seth to come in, that the smell of sex, the crumpled bed, Ryan’s discarded clothes are too many clues that something has been happening. And Seth might be an ass, sometimes – hell, often – but he’s not dumb.

She slips into the bathroom, not quite shutting the door behind her, because it’s all very well to be stealth, but she wants to know what’s going on outside while she’s in there. She can almost hear her heart thudding against her ribcage, and as she hears Seth’s voice, a little whiny – ‘Ry-an!’ – she’s torn between annoyance and guilt. And by guilt, clearly, she means much more guilt than the default level she’s been functioning with ever since she started that thing with Ryan by grabbing his cock in the dark.

She hears Ryan stumbling to the door, the lock turning, his gravelly voice – feigning sleep, she notices, because she knows he is actually terminally awake, like she is, wired to the max and scared like fuck of getting caught – sounding aggravated.

“Seth? What the fuck?”

“Finally! Listen, can I come in?”

“Seth. I was sleeping. What time is it?”

“Uh, one or something? Not that late. But I really need to talk to you. Now.” Jesus, Cohen. No sense of boundaries _at all_. And _she_ thought he was needy.

“No.”

“Ryan, come on, this is important. Alex…”

“No.” And Ryan sounds so firm, so _Chino_ , it makes Summer squirm from her hiding place behind the bathroom door.

“But…”

“Seth, it’s late, I was asleep, you woke me up and I want to go back to sleep.”

“But Alex…”

“Seth, fuck off.”

“….”

Summer can hear Ryan shifting about from foot to foot, uneasy on his side of the door, holding the fort against the massed forces of Cohen, hell-bent on invading his – their! – private space.

“You’re not…”

“What?”

“You haven’t got… a _girl_ in there, have you?”

Fuck Cohen. Fuck him and his weird flashes of perceptiveness that cut through his self-obsession now and then like laser beams. Fuck.

“Seth– ” and Ryan sounds both testy and really, really tired. “I mean, fuck, when’s the last time you saw me even close to getting laid?”

And he sounds so convincing that Seth instantly caves in, his voice defeated. “Yeah, man, sorry. I’ll… I’ll leave you. Talk tomorrow?”

Ryan grunts, some noncommittal assent, and Summer hears the door shut and finally can draw a deep breath.

Shit, that was such a close call. Just as well it’s the last time. Any more of these and she’d end up on a pacemaker.

She slips out of the bathroom, marveling at the fact they avoided getting caught. Ryan is standing in the middle of the room, looking wired, breathing hard.

“When he said that about a girl, I thought we were really fucked,” Summer whispers, just to say something.

Ryan nods slowly.

“You were really cool. I thought you were a crappy liar?”

“Not when it really matters, I guess,” he says his voice tight, and as he exhales sharply, Summer realizes quite how close they were to being busted.

“You know, no matter what, I’ll never tell him,” she says, spontaneously.

Ryan raises his eyes towards her, and even in the dim half-light, she can see he’s skeptical.

“Yeah?” he asks. “Even if you guys get back together?” And as he says that Summer can see it happening, Zach melting away, Alex disappearing, and unaccountably, Seth and her returning into some sort of groove despite all the shit, because yes, after all, there is still love there. She shakes her head but it’s too late, the damage is done, and she can see in Ryan’s eyes that he too, can see it.

“Even if,” she says, determined. “Chino, even if we get back together and we list all our… other people, I won’t tell him about you. And if we break up a few months down the line and have some screaming argument about cheating and hating each other, I won’t tell him either. I may be shallow and a bitch, but I don’t…” She stops. She was going to say – ‘I don’t betray people’ but that is such an obvious falsehood that it’s not worth saying. “I don’t sell out on my friends. This is between you and me. Cohen – Cohen has nothing to do with this.”

Ryan says nothing but he keeps his eyes on her, assessing her, judging her, she can’t help feeling; and she wants to shut his eyes with her hand, wriggle free, escape his glare of doom, even though she’s being absolutely honest there.

“Me neither,” he finally says, and Summer knows that this is the truth. She’s known all the way, but it’s nice to hear him say it.

Funnily enough, Seth’s brief visit, although it triggered massive guilt pangs for a short while, is no longer an issue. Perhaps because Cohen was such a self-centered ass – she wonders how often Ryan has had to give him the brush-off in the middle of the night – or because she’s had another good look at Chino in a wifebeater and briefs, Summer is feeling itchy again. As in, she wonders whether Chino’s too rattled for another round, or whether she can convince him otherwise. Besides, she knows she’s going to live with the pain for a long while – she might as well cheat enough to deserve the torture. Funny how each time she thinks about cheating it’s Cohen, not Zach, who comes to mind.

She walks towards him, with a little wiggle of her ass, only half on purpose – she just does it, okay – and yes, he is checking her out. Summer puts one arm on each shoulder and stares him square in the eye.

“Oh,” he says. “So you want more?”

Summer doesn’t actually answer him, but as his hands go to her breasts, she smiles and presses her mound into his groin. As in yes. Unambiguously, no messing around, we’re definitely on, yes.

It’s as if they need to exorcise the spirit of Seth from the room, replace it with whatever the essence of _them_ is. And that means sex.

Summer knows she’s probably not going to be able to walk come morning, and that she’ll be sore for a week. But it will totally be worth the pain.

 

 

_Ryan_

Ryan is feeling a little shell-shocked – the shift from deep, post-orgasmic sleep to panic-ridden awakening; having to deal with Seth, and his fucking sixth sense; the crashing feeling of betrayal renewed; now once again, Summer grinding herself into him, his cock answering back without consulting his brain, despite the amazing workout earlier – it’s too much. Sensory overload, and then some.

But Summer doesn’t let up, nor does his dick, and if there is one thing Ryan has learned over the past week, it’s that he’s much more easily led by his dick than he ever thought possible. And it’s not like he had many illusions about it to start with.

Besides, he told himself he’d make her come as many times as he can, and he reckons three can be bettered – even if the last one was some kind of multiple orgasm and he is, actually, quite proud of himself for that. It’s not every day you get a girl in that state.

Next thing he knows, they’re kissing, softly at first and then harder, teeth nipping at swollen lips, tongues entwined, their naked bodies pressed up against each other so that he feels her breasts mashed up against his chest – she’s on tiptoes – and one of her hands is on his butt, pulling him in as if they could merge their bodies just by osmosis, skin yielding to skin.

Somehow they stumble onto the bed, still wrapped around each other, Summer writhing under the weight of him, her mouth hungry for his tongue, her whole body yearning for him, and Ryan pulls away from her long enough to find a condom when Summer grabs his arm.

“Don’t.”

“Huh?” What’s she going on about?

“I want you to do me without a condom,” she says, and Ryan’s gut twists a little at the sound of her voice.

“What? No.” No way, he thinks, with a vision of Theresa’s round belly flashing through his mind. No fucking way.

Summer pauses, licks her lips, looks him in the eye. “It’s not like this, Ryan. I’m on the pill.”

“You are? But I thought you and Zach… ?”

“No, it’s not for that… I mean, yes, it is the contraceptive pill but I take it to regulate…” she stops. “I take it for girl stuff. Not because I’m having sex. Because I’m not.” And as she says that the absurdity of her statement hits the both of them and they just burst out laughing, in a fit of giggles that has them winded and almost in tears on the bed.

Ryan is the first to recover. “So. You sure about this?”

“If you tell me it’s okay, I am,” she answers with complete candor. “I mean, you know I’ve slept with Seth, and then there was this one random guy last summer, Jude, but we always used condoms. So…”

So if anyone’s got anything, it’s him. Check.

“Well, I use condoms, and I did get tested a couple times and I’m clean. Or I was – and it’s not like I’ve had much action since then.” Except Theresa, but that…

“Theresa?” She just had to ask, of course.

Ryan sighs. “Condom fuck-up. And they checked her for HIV while she was pregnant, and she’s not. So I guess…”

Summer grins at him then, a big shit-eating grin. “You know, I’ve never had a condomless fuck. You?”

Ryan closes his eyes. Yeah – Theresa, again. Back in Chino, when they were so on/off and fucking all the time, and although they did the condom thing she was also on the pill in case something went wrong, and she’d let him fuck her without because it felt better, warmer, wetter, and he’d beg her sometimes.

He nods, eyes still closed.

“Chino,” Summer commands. “Open your eyes. I don’t want you thinking about other girls when you’re in bed with me.” And her tone is joking, but steely, too.

Ryan complies. He’d much rather look at her now than think about Theresa, anyhow.

“Okay,” he whispers to her. “Okay.”

She lies under him, her hair fanned out on the white sheet, dark and matted with sweat, and Ryan thinks how she looks like a girl who’s been really fucked. Her eyes are tired, with dark circles under them, but also bright, and aroused, her lips are parted, her cheeks flushed with a dark brunette flush. He props himself on his arms so he can get a good look at the whole of her, naked under his gaze, brown and tanned and lithe and gorgeous and his heart catches in his throat. Because maybe this is all about the sex, but fuck, she really is something else.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and he doesn’t care if he’s breached their unspoken boundaries, she is, and it’s just the truth.

She blinks then, and for a split second Ryan sees tears there, and he _really_ doesn’t want to think about what that means, or could mean, or should mean, but then it’s gone and she’s grinning at him.

“You’re pretty fine yourself, Chino,” she says back. “Now fuck me already.”

She spreads her legs for him, and Ryan positions himself and teases her, the head of his cock stroking her labia – God, he’d forgotten how sensitive his cock was without a condom – pushing a little in at a time, but he sees her wincing and stops.

“Sore?” he asks – to tell the truth he’s feeling a little delicate himself after all the fucking of the past few days, and especially of the past few hours.

“Yes. But it doesn’t matter, do it anyway,” she says, with a slight grimace. “It’ll get better.”

“Hang on.” And Ryan disengages from her and crawls up the bed. In his bedside table he rummages for a second, brings back a tube.

“Lube,” he says, and she snickers at him.

“Hey,” he says defensively. “ I have to look after myself, okay? I’m not asking you what you use.”

“I have a vibrator,” Summer says, and starts giggling. Here they are, fucking like rabbits, touching themselves in front of each other, and they’re shy about masturbation.

He shrugs and squeezes some of the lube onto his hand to warm it a little – it’s fucking cold – and then gets back between her legs and starts massaging it into her pussy. He actually focuses a lot of his attention on her clit, because, it can’t hurt to get her off, he figures, and her reaction completely vindicates him. She’s pushing into his fingers, breathing heavily, making little moans, and Ryan speeds up a little, dips his head to her breast, sucks her nipple and bites it lightly. He’s keeping it steady, faster now, he’s sucking on her tit, adding pressure and Christ, she comes like clockwork, biting her lip, with a broken cry that makes his dick jump.

Now is the time to slip into her, and with a groan Ryan does just that, and Summer moans as he enters her, her hips bucking up to maximize penetration. Jesus, it’s been so long since he’s fucked without a condom, he’s completely forgotten how much wetter and hotter it feels inside, how much slicker.

“Oh fuck, Ryan, deeper,” she pleads, and that’s all the encouragement he needs. He hoists her right leg up, her ankle by his ear, and shifts so he does get in deeper, and Summer whines.

“Still hurting?” he whispers into her ear.

“Yeah – but it’s good hurt,” she pants out. “Don’t stop, please.” So he doesn’t, but focuses on sliding in and out of her with a good steady rhythm. She’s reacting, arching her back, thrusting her hips into his, grunting softly with each push, until Ryan picks up the speed, and starts slamming into her, despite his soreness. He can feel his dick hitting her cervix, and Summer is starting to lose it under his assault.

She’s so fucking hot, so into it, that Ryan feels the last of his self-control evaporating – he knows it’s the last time, it’s got to be, so let’s make it memorable – and he gets onto his knees, holding himself up with one hand, the other around her waist, pounding into her with all he’s got, really fucking her into the mattress, and Summer is crying out, real cries that he has to stop with his mouth otherwise they are going to be so busted. He’s kissing her, or perhaps more accurately fucking her mouth with his tongue, and now she’s moaning continuously into his kiss, which is turning him on even more, although he would have thought that was impossible.

She’s definitely coming, has been for some time, judging by the contractions around his cock, when he finally lets go, a long and intense orgasm that starts way deep into his groin, and squeezes tears out of his eyes, it’s so fucking powerful. He’s the one crying into her mouth now, his whole body uncoiling like a wound spring as he collapses onto Summer, with just enough presence of mind to move her leg out of the way so he doesn’t dislocate her hip.

For the next five minutes, maybe more, the only sound in the room is that of their ragged breathing, slowly returning to normal.

Summer is the first to break the silence.

“Chino, I swear, if you don’t move off me, I will suffocate.”

“Sorry,” he says, rolling off immediately. “I didn’t mean to crush you. It’s just…” he tails off. He wraps his arm around her, pulls her close, one last chance to touch her, smell her, feel her warmth against him, and she snuggles into his side.

“Yeah, I get it. Me too.” She pauses. “You know, it’s just as well Zach and I aren’t doing it because I’m not letting anyone down there for a few days. I am _sore_. But good sore, you know?”

Ryan smiles. Yeah. He knows. “Same here,” he says wryly. Because right now, he feels a little too bruised and battered to consider having sex for a while. Even jerking off feels like it might be off limits for the next couple of days. He’s had enough sex to last him… some time.

He feels sleep tugging at his eyelids, his whole body clamoring for rest, and struggles to keep a focus. What is it, 2am? 3? It’s got to be time for their goodbye – a real wrenching goodbye, thankfully dulled by fatigue and by the sex overload they just went through. Still.

As he tries desperately to keep his eyes open, she slips out from inside his arm, and she’s getting off the bed. He tracks her moving through his room, picking up stray underwear, her coat, which she puts on over her naked body. Fuck, if he weren’t so damn _spent_ he’d get a kick out of that, especially when she slips bare feet into her stilettos.

Finally she is ready to go. He doesn’t know what to say – this last fuck was so…primal? Basic, hard, bed-breaking fucking, no finesse, no romance. But, Christ, hot. Like the past five days. Lots of heat, occasional flashes of tenderness, and on both sides, a determination to keep emotions at bay. Ryan knows perfectly well that if he let himself, he could fall in love with Summer, at any rate get into her for more than just a good fuck. And he thinks she feels the same, except that he won’t allow himself to think about this. Ever. She loves Seth – even if it doesn’t stop other things from happening; and Seth is his almost-brother, and Seth loves her, and…

He snaps out of it, forces himself to his feet, still naked, and stands in front of Summer. It really is time. Time to forget who they are, and start pretending they’re who they’ve ceased to be.

He wraps his arms around her petite frame and pulls her close, his right hand stroking her hair.

“So this is it?” he asks, and she nods with her head buried deep into his neck.

“I’ll miss this,” she whispers. “That was… something else. Honestly, I didn’t know sex could be like this for real. I mean, as opposed to pornos or whatever,” and when he looks at her, she’s a little pink, and he wants to kiss her. So he does, but tries not to linger.

“Me too,” he says. “And, for the record, I’ve never had sex like tonight, either.”

Frankly, he doesn’t think that many people have.

There’s a little more kissing, and hugging, and then Summer heads for the door. This is really the time to say goodbye, and he wishes he could have stayed as detached at the end of this week as he was when it started. Because he hasn’t, and he’s not just mired in guilt, he’s also hurting already at the thought of no longer being allowed to touch Summer. Jesus, he’s such a wimp.

“Wait,” he says as she has her hand on the door handle. She turns to look at him, and he walks up to her, grabs her in his arms, her clothed body against his naked one, and plants a deep, passionate, dirty, sexy kiss on her.

When he releases her, she’s a little unsteady on her feet.

“Now that’s what I call a goodbye kiss,” she says, and he swears her eyes are shining a little too much.

“Goodbye,” he whispers, and she steps out and closes the door behind her.

It’s over. Now all they have left is the guilt.

It’s time to hurt like a little bitch.

 

_Ryan (Epilogue)_

Actually, Ryan is surprised to find out that it does get a little easier as time goes on. Except for the massive setbacks. Like that time when Seth is obsessing to him about whether Summer slept with Zach on Valentine’s Day, and spends his days listening to Boyz II Men on a loop, and Ryan has to bite his tongue not to tell him to stop whining and get on with his life – and that yes, Summer has slept with one of his close friends, he’s just looking at the wrong one.

The worst moment is of course when Summer and Seth get back together and Ryan has to cheer from the sidelines. He can’t look Summer in the eye, never tries anymore – and he knows she finds it difficult. He knows she loves Seth, always has, in a way, and that he doesn’t really feel like that about her anyway. But the thought of Seth fucking her makes him want to hit people. Lots of people. It will pass, he tells himself.

He knew this was going to happen, that’s the worst. And he can’t help but wonder whether she thinks of him when she’s in bed with Seth, and whether there’s some deep romantic connection that makes their sex life really fulfilling. Because he can’t believe that Summer and Seth fuck like he and Summer did. Nobody fucks like they did that week. Nobody.

If there was a crash course in betrayal, it would probably end like this – the perpetrators reflecting on their crime. At the end of the day, there is only one question to answer – if you betrayed your friends, your best friend, your brother, you have to ask yourself – was it worth it?

And despite the guilt, the pain, the pangs when he sees them together, the stilted atmosphere it’s created between Seth and him, Ryan knows that the answer is yes. Absolutely. _Yes._


End file.
